<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>shatter out loud by neonheartbeat</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26060956">shatter out loud</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonheartbeat/pseuds/neonheartbeat'>neonheartbeat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Genderfluid Character, Hate Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Sexual Tension, Vomiting, basically everything you can expect out of the shitty side of the music industry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:21:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>95,159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26060956</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonheartbeat/pseuds/neonheartbeat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>What can you know about a person? They shift in the light. You can’t light up all sides at once. - Richard Siken</i><br/>____________________________</p><p>Kylo Ren, the frontman of KORE, is the most famous rock idol ever signed to Empire Records and First Order Management: notoriously reclusive, silent, and talented. Rey Niima is a reporter for Rolling Stone assigned to give his first-ever press interview, along for the ride on the band's tour of the United States, despite the fact she loathes him.</p><p>But both have secrets they need the other to hide.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Amilyn Holdo &amp; Rey, Rey &amp; Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey &amp; Rose Tico, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Best of Reylo</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Read the tags, I beg of y'all. I will absolutely tag for anything anyone needs me to as the story progresses in case I forgot something, and I'll be happy to go into detail about tags if anyone has a question regarding specifics if you leave a comment here or shoot me a DM on twitter @neon_heartbeat. But seriously, we're dipping a toe into some darker themes than I usually get into here so please watch yourself! Thank you!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Will someone get Ms. Niima in here?” barked Amilyn Holdo, kicking open the door to her office with one Louboutin. The golden words EDITOR IN CHIEF gleamed on the glass, reflecting the fluorescents as it swung outward, the blinds clattering. “Now!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Coming!” shouted a woman's voice from the back of the copy room, and a blur of brown and white skittered up to the door, darting into the office as the door shut behind her. “Sorry, sorry, I got your email about the meeting, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> I did, I was trying to finish the copy from next week’s online article about Cardi B and—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Save that for the interns,” said Amilyn, rounding her desk and sinking into her chair. “Or at least let them edit it for you. I’ve told you a million times. You’re a writer now: we have people who do that for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, yes, totally. I can do that.” The twenty-something shifted her weight in the seat, blinking behind her round glasses. “What, um. What’s the nature of this meeting, Ms. Holdo?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“KORE is doing that concert in Madison Square Garden next week,” the older woman said, steepling her fingers to press against her chin. The soft, balayage-dyed hair that seemed to never move from its set shone in the lights overhead, along with her signature lavender-dove gray suit: Amilyn Holdo was a force to be reckoned with, and she knew it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a brief silence. The younger woman frowned. “I know. Everyone knows. Aren’t we sending Poe Dameron to cover the concert? He’s the local events guy—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Holdo rubbed her temples, making a mental note to email First Order Management back as soon as possible. “We are. You, however, are going to interview their frontman. By request.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The—” Ms. Niima’s face went blank and slack, stunned to silence. She found her voice after a moment. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Request? </span>
  </em>
  <span>But nobody— </span>
  <em>
    <span>nobody</span>
  </em>
  <span> interviews him. Nobody. You mean, you mean we actually got a <em>press pass</em> from FOM?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I guess they liked your piece last month about the Korean pop industry. After </span>
  <span>much</span>
  <span> squabbling, which means our next print copy is going to feature your one-on-one exclusive interview with Kylo Ren, and it’s going to be in clingwrapped copies, which will </span>
  <em>
    <span>hopefully</span>
  </em>
  <span> get our print sales back up. It’ll be on the website behind a paywall, of course, but…” and Amilyn shrugged, as if to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>what do you expect?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You’ll find a list of questions to ask and questions </span>
  <span>not</span>
  <span> to ask in your inbox from FOM. I’m courtesy-copied on the email. You will submit your questions by next week to be approved by J. Snoke himself, and </span>
  <span>then</span>
  <span> you’ll collect your press pass and head to the concert venue for the interview. Am I clear?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” squeaked Ms. Niima, looking horrified. “Should I, this is— is this priority? This is priority, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is. Cancel everything else you’re working on, go home if you have to. And for the love of God, Niima, don’t fuck this up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey slammed her Macbook shut and shoved it into her bag, her mind racing about a million miles a minute. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I finished a degree in journalism two years ago and now I’m gonna be interviewing the most reclusive and secretive artist in the world. Holy shit, holy shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She glanced in the mirror. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to need a better outfit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her oversized brown knit sweater and white jeans were fine for early spring in New York, but she’d need to look professional and </span>
  <em>
    <span>cool</span>
  </em>
  <span> and sleek and elegant if she was going to make any sort of impression on Kylo Ren. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tried, while clearing up her desk and looking for her pens, to remember when she’d first heard of him. Four, five years ago, maybe six: he’d made his entrance into the music world with a smash hit single, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Monster</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that had taken the industry by storm. She still remembered singing the lyrics under her breath in college, watching the music video on YouTube: a man dressed from head to toe in glittering black leather, his face obscured by a mask, snarling </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll eat your heart, heart, heart, baby I’m a monster  </span>
  </em>
  <span>into a microphone. It had been incredible, how he had managed to convey mood and emotion without his face showing, with just the sheer physicality of his body and the way he moved, a tilt to his head… and that had kicked off the groupies, the fans both male and female who had lost their minds over him, who’d called themselves his Baby Monsters, who made signs and screamed at concerts. KORE had started up soon after that, six more members added in, all in similar black leather getups and gleaming masks or heavy makeup that obscured their faces. It was like Blue Man Group crossed with a biker gang, as a few people had described the band, but nobody could deny their magnetic appeal. They were on their second world tour, three albums already out, two of which were platinum— and that didn’t account for Kylo’s solo album, which had gone platinum all on its own. AMERICA’S KORE KRAZY!! read media headlines and news reporters and chevrons. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All this for seven people that nobody knew anything about: not their ethnicities, not their names, not their ages or even their genders, and Rey was going to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>first access</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She would have screamed in delight if she hadn’t felt like she was going to throw up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m heading out for the night,” she called out to Finn, who looked up from the fashion editorial section as she passed him on her way to the elevators. “See you later.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I heard the news!” he stage-whispered, and hurried closer to her as she paused. “Is it true? You got an exclusive with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kylo Ren</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she hissed back. “Shh. Don’t tell anyone, and I’ll get you the brand of shoes he likes most.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finn’s dark eyes widened. “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>man,</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t play. Rose and I are betting on whether he goes for Red Wings or Doc Martens. I’ll owe you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She grinned, feeling a little better. “Will do. I have to go work on my list of questions and get them approved, though, so I’ll see you tomorrow!”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The subway ride home was rattly and hot, and she took the time to pop in her earbuds and listen to an audiobook she’d been meaning to catch up on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not music, of course: she didn’t listen to music for fun. Not anymore, not since she’d been young and dumb and full of wishes for the future like any stupid kid who thought they had it in them to be a songwriter or a singer. Rey didn’t like to think about that nowadays, but she took a deep breath anyway and centered herself: </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re not fifteen, and you have a different name now, and nobody knows who you are. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Used to be she couldn’t even walk into school without people laughing at her, pointing…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey’s cheeks flamed with heat at the ten-year-old memory. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Go away,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, gripping her phone harder. That version of her didn’t exist anymore— she was an adult with a career in journalism ahead of her now, and she didn’t ever have to think about her past humiliating failures again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t need music,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought stubbornly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You just need the best article ever written to make your mark on the world. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And, okay, she did have a little journal with snippets of bad poetry and song lyrics at home that she hid in a drawer and only ever brought out when she was really in a funk, but didn’t everyone do that?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, she didn’t need empty, unattainable dreams anymore. She was past that. She was serious now: she was a real </span>
  <em>
    <span>writer </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she was one-hundred percent going to make this interview the biggest and best thing she’d ever done.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The email from First Order Management, when she’d secured herself at home in her apartment and opened it, was surprisingly dry and straightforward. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You may ask Kylo Ren anything that does not fall under the umbrella of off-limits questions. Off limits questions include and are limited to: any questions pertaining to his stage persona or identity or origin, any question regarding his life before he came under management of First Order Management, and any question regarding his personal life. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There was a list of helpful guidelines as to what she would be allowed to ask, most of them softball questions along the lines of “where do you get your inspiration for your music/songs/art?”, “what is your favorite musical instrument?” and “what is your favorite city to tour in?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey wrinkled her nose and sat back in her seat. These were puff piece questions, not questions any sane reader would expect from a first-access exclusive interview with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rolling Stone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell is FOM playing at?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She’d have to work harder at this game, whatever it was. Wanting to preserve a persona for an audience was fine, but this seemed… overprotective, almost. Personal life questions could be anything from “what’s your social security number” to “what kind of coffee do you like” and this didn’t seem to leave any wiggle room at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She opened Safari and sat back, fighting with herself, but deciding that this would be a risk she’d be willing to take in order to get some good damn questions out of Kylo Ren, and typed in </span>
  <em>
    <span>who is Kylo Ren </span>
  </em>
  <span>before hitting enter and settling in for her trip down the rabbit hole of the Internet.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five hours later, the sun had set, Rey was on her third cup of coffee, and she was deep into some kind of message board website where everyone was anonymous and everyone seemed dead certain that Kylo Ren was a robot, a transgender woman posing as her deadname persona, or maybe a lizard man from Mars. She rubbed her eyes and idly scrolled down another swath of green text and yellow chat boxes, and paused when she saw a photograph from a user. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a blurry, semi-profile of a man getting out of a black SUV on what seemed like a dark city street. He was surrounded by two men in black, and seemed mid-motion, as if he was hurrying, but a prominent nose and pale, high forehead were visible in the pixels. Rey squinted, and looked at the accompanying text. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So this was taken in LA in 2017 by yours truly. Snapped it outside the Rose Bowl three hours before the KORE concert, and my friend who was with me and ALSO got a photo but wasn’t subtle about it got fucking shaken down by a couple of security goons and forced to delete the photos— whoever this guy is I don’t think the management company wants anyone to know who he is lmao</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey frowned. It was such an unclear photo that it could have been any of the band members, but somehow she felt like Kylo Ren was a higher priority than the rest of them. Why else would a security guard demand photos of him be deleted? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Unless they do that for everyone, to throw them off. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She gulped more coffee. The man looked to be tall, his head higher than the roof of the car, but he could be standing on a curb for all she could tell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She scrolled some more, then clicked over to another tab, this one a thread about someone’s high school marching band and some famous instagram influencer who had </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> had a nose job between school and now. It was a palate cleanser in between the crackpot theories about KORE being a front for a child sacrificing cult of Satan worshipers. She smiled as she began to scroll down that one, looking at photos of some class from ten years ago with the offending woman’s face circled in red and blown up to show a clear difference in the size of her nostrils between it and her flawlessly Facetuned instagram photos. “Got ya,” said Rey, half-laughing. God, the lengths people would go to prove themselves right. The next photo down was another class picture, this one of the same highschool band group all candidly waiting for their bus, with the same girl circled in red again to show the profile of her nose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except in this photo, the woman’s nose wasn’t the only one that jumped out at Rey.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Holy shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, startled as she caught sight of the boy standing almost at the far edge of the right frame. He looked out toward the road, his shoulders hunched and his hands in his windbreaker pockets, but that nose and forehead…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey’s heart almost stopped. She switched back over to the other forum and cursed under her breath as she scrolled back up to the blurry Los Angeles photo, then clicked back over to compare— yes, it was almost the same exact profile. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It could be a coincidence, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, dizzy for a moment, and then went back to scroll up to the class photo. Yes! There was the same boy, a head taller than his classmates and in the very back row on the left, ears sticking out like a pair of moons and looking surly. Rey squinted at the names under the photo— the poster had carelessly scribbled through the lines of names with the Paint app to protect identities except for the first name of the girl she was trying to prove had a nose job done, but she could see clearly on the top line </span>
  <em>
    <span>B--K R-W, LE-T F-O- RIGHT: B-N SO-O</span>
  </em>
  <span> and after that the scribbling obscured the rest of the line, but Rey didn’t care: she had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lead. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A B and an N could only be </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ben</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because there were no other men’s names in English that had that as a beginning and ending letter as far as she knew. So Ben: that was this mystery Los Angeles man’s name, whether he was a backup singer or the mysterious Kylo Ren himself. Rey screenshot the forums and saved them to her files, then frowned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>S, o, something, o</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What the heck kind of last name…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sobo. Soco. Sodo? Rey began to write down every last name she could think of, substituting in every consonant she could remember into the space between the two o’s on a piece of paper. Sofo? No. Sogo, Soho, maybe? Sojo, Soko, Solo…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Solo? Wait, Solo like... Senator Organa-Solo? Rey set her notebook down and frantically searched for Wikipedia: Senator Leia Organa-Solo, of Massachusetts, Democrat, was sixty-one years old and up for re-election this year and Rey was almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>certain</span>
  </em>
  <span> that she didn’t have any relatives, but… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Personal life, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she read like a woman on fire. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Organa-Solo married Han Solo, a long-haul trucker, in a civil ceremony in Florida in the fall of 1989. They separated in 2000. They have one son, Benjamin Christopher Solo, born November 22, 1991.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Benjamin Christopher Solo. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ben Solo. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A thrill of horror snaked up Rey’s spine: this was something </span>
  <em>
    <span>real, </span>
  </em>
  <span>not weird Internet theories. Searching for “Ben Solo” or even his full name, however, brought up nothing past 2010 beyond a little piece about the highschool band playing at a state football game (Ben had apparently played the drums in marching band), which… would coincide with Kylo Ren’s sudden explosion on the scene in 2015…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I found him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Elation coursed through Rey, excitement that was probably fifty percent caffeine fueled, but still excitement. “Holy shit,” she said aloud into the dark apartment, and realized it was almost eleven at night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She scribbled down everything in her notebook and stood up to stretch her back, groaning as her spine popped and cracked before she flopped down into bed, staring at the ceiling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who is this guy?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>She dreamed she was fifteen again, sobbing in front of a computer that kept blasting messages at her:</span>
  <em>
    <span> DIE. YOU’RE WORTHLESS. UGLY VOICE. SO ANNOYING, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and no matter what she did she couldn’t stop it, not even unplugging the machine because the walls started flashing the hateful messages at her until the white light became noise, shrieking, screaming...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault,” Rey sobbed, jerking upright in bed and waking up in the dim lavender haze of the light just before dawn. She was sweating and shaking, her mouth dry as bone and her body drenched as the cool kiss of her bedroom fan drifted over her skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not my fault. Not again. Please.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’d been fifteen, and so thrilled to make a real song, a real music video, and it had gone viral in all the worst ways. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The worst song ever. The death of modern music. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The bullying, the threats… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No. She couldn’t think about that. She’d changed her whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>self</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get away, reinvented herself, grown out her bangs, switched back to wearing glasses. Nobody was going to know. No one could know. Nobody would ever, ever know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t going back to sleep tonight. “Fuck,” Rey said aloud into the dark, and padded to the kitchen to get a drink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A week later, her list of questions had been approved. Rey had breathed a sigh of relief when the email had come back, the morning of the concert. She’d spent the rest of the day panicking over the right outfit to wear, and had texted Rose, who worked with Finn in the fashion department, to come help her, because she could not decide on what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyone wore to get an exclusive first interview with a mysterious diva performer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In addition, all the threads she’d connected on the internet in the dead of night had seemed ridiculous when reviewed in daylight, and she’d groaned at herself and shoved the notes into a drawer, mentally kicking herself for even thinking that was a reasonable way to approach a groundbreaking interview. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll lose my job! I’ll just stick to the puff questions, God.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have to wear something crisp,” Rose told her, arms crossed as she eyed up Rey’s raggedy jeans. “God, do I have to run to Saks and get you a freaking skirt?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just tell me what I can put together out of my closet!” begged Rey, pacing around. “I should have gotten a haircut. A blowout. A makeover. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ugh.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, your hair is fine,” Rose insisted. “Here.” She dug through Rey’s closet and came up with a pair of cream-colored slacks, straight through the leg, and a rose-pink, sleeveless blouse. “Here. French-tuck this in at the waist and get a coat to go over it, and get sunglasses. Boom.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shoes?” demanded Rey, shucking her clothes off and changing in front of Rose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nude heels. Do you have heels?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have, uh, I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> pair of nude heels for formal stuff— I can barely walk in them—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here,” said Rose, pulling out the heels from the back of her closet. “God, why are they </span>
  <em>
    <span>patent finish?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I bought them in two thousand eleven, that’s why,” said Rey, trying to jam her feet into them. “Unless you have a pair of suede finish Gianvito Rossis in your purse—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span> let me take you shopping just </span>
  <em>
    <span>once</span>
  </em>
  <span> this decade. I am begging you.” Rose stepped back and appraised her with a critical eye. “Coat?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey sighed. “The only coat I have is a freaking winter coat. It’s spring. It’ll be too hot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Put on the coat. You casually take it off inside when you talk to him and put it back on when you leave.” Rose picked up the fifteen dollar sunglasses Rey’d bought at a Duane Reade and sighed, then handed her her own Chanel shades. “Take these. Don’t wear them, just clip them in your coat pocket. How are you getting to the Garden?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um, I figured I’d take the subway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rose shook her head vehemently, black hair swishing. “No. I’m taking you, I’ll call an Uber Black for you. And you have to text me the second you get out of there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey smiled at her. “I will, I promise. Thank you so, so much. I owe you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Uber Black pulled up to the curb at Madison Square Garden at six on the dot. Rey slid out, thanking the driver, texting Rose, and getting her bearings: a massive crowd of fans was waiting to get into the venue outside on the street, half of them wearing band T-shirts and makeup and the other half bearing signs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What have I gotten myself into?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ms. Niima? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rolling Stone?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She jerked herself back to the present. A red-haired man in a clean-lined, immaculately tailored black suit with an earpiece was standing on the curb, wearing black sunglasses, but even behind them Rey could feel his unseen eyes boring into her. “Yes,” she said, trying to sound like she knew what she was doing. “I was told I need a press pass?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wordlessly, the man handed her a lanyard, at the end of which dangled a clear plastic sleeve containing her pass, with her name and publication printed on it. “Follow me, please,” he said, turning on his heel. Rey did, trying to walk on her toes in the heels, and they went through a couple of side doors, then down a long, concrete-floored hallway trailing with cables and cords. She had to tiptoe over them gingerly in her heels, and when they came to a hallway of doors marked with paper signs, the red-haired man paused and indicated one with an open hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kylo Ren,</span>
  </em>
  <span> it said in thick black lettering. “You have thirty minutes,” he said coolly. “When you’re finished, please step out of the room and call for me. My name is Hux.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you’re— a bodyguard? Security?” Rey’s hand tightened on her purse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I work for FOM,” he said simply. “Whenever you’re ready.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Rey took a deep breath, reached up to make sure her hair was neat, and pushed her glasses up her nose before stepping forward and knocking on the door. “Hello?” she called, heart half in her throat. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Rolling Stone?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I— we have an interview.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, come in,” called a male voice, low and dark. Something about it got her hackles up, and Rey resolved to be as professional as she could before she opened the door and closed it behind her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room was plain, not blasted with weird decor like she had half expected it to be: didn’t big time stars demand, like, champagne and only green M&amp;M’s in a crystal bowl or something? This was just a plain dressing room with a built-in makeup table and mirror along one wall, a low futon-style sofa, a rack of black outfits along one wall, and a man… lurking in the corner. There really was no better word for it: he was just standing there, half in shadow, a broad, tall guy whose hair, whatever color it was, was covered by a black wig cap and whose features were completely obscured by face paint.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face was stark white, and his eyelids were painted red, streaking back from under his brows like something out of Japanese kabuki theater, but underlaid with black pigment that stretched from the sides of his nose out to his cheekbones. His lips had been painted black and red: his upper lip filled in black, the bottom one bisected by a red line that went through his chin. “Hi,” she said automatically, stretching her hand out. “I’m Rey Niima.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo Ren just stared at her hand until she dropped it. He then pushed off the wall and walked into the room, and she noted, with a hyper-awareness she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure </span>
  </em>
  <span>was just because she was nervous as hell, that he was slightly pigeon-toed. He wore black leather pants, thick-soled black boots that had to add at least two inches to his already intimidating height, and a black leather jacket that was encrusted with red glitter in an ombre that deepened into black and silver from right to left. She had expected him to jingle with, she didn’t know, chains or something, but he was totally silent in motion. “They told me you had a forty-five minute slot,” he said, in that same almost toneless, deep voice that made her want to sit up and pay attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hux said I had thirty?” she asked, confused.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo Ren didn’t really respond to that, just checked his face in the mirror, then moved to sit on the futon. “You can sit,” he said, indicating the chair at his makeup table. “You’re my guest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” she said awkwardly, maneuvering around the room to sit on the edge of the chair. She pulled out her notebook and flipped to a blank page, fumbling with her pen as she hastily scribbled out in shorthand a description of his makeup and his general demeanor. “So, I guess we’ll, um, get started. This is really— the first time you’ve ever been interviewed by any outlet, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he said, brows furrowing the white paint like he thought she was an idiot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Flustered, she clarified, “Right. Did you— I’m just wondering if that’s because your management company wanted that, you know, to keep the mystique of the man behind the persona, or because that was a creative choice you made.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo Ren’s left eye twitched visibly, the muscle under the paint flickering. “That’s my choice,” he said, very softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey swallowed. This wasn’t how she’d expected this to go— or maybe it was exactly what she should have expected. He seemed like he might fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. “I don’t— interviews aren’t really, um, a thing where I shoot a question at you and demand an answer. I’d rather this be more of a conversation, if that’s all right with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not good at conversation,” he said shortly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, no shit, you diva.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You don’t have to be,” she said, crossing her ankles and deciding honesty was the best policy. “Look, FOM sent me this list of boring approved questions, stuff like what’s your favorite instrument and what city is your favorite to tour in, and I thought they were just— really a low bar for your first ever media interview.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He regarded her with a blank, unreadable expression, and the corner of his mouth flickered. “That… does sound boring.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, so I figured I’d ask them right off the bat and then, I don’t know, get into something a little more interesting.” Rey shrugged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you... writing in shorthand?” he asked, glancing at her notes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she said defensively. Her heart was still pounding a mile a minute. “I know it’s an old lady hobby, but it’s faster than typing or writing, and besides, nobody but me can read my notes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” he said, as if that was reasonable, before leaning back slightly. “So. What are my pre-approved questions?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He wasn’t involved in setting this thing up at all, was he?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey wrote that down quickly. “Okay. Uh, where does your inspiration for your work come from?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The red-painted eyes narrowed. “Drugs.” He waited a beat, watching her face, and tilted his head. “That was a joke. I get inspiration from other artists. Michael Jackson, I guess. Elton John. Lady Gaga.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” said Rey, completely unfazed as she wrote, “a lot of people have called you the male Lady Gaga.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” he said shortly. “Along with plenty of speculation on my gender identity and my sexuality.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She glanced up, taken aback by the edge in his voice. “You don’t have to comment on that if you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Extremely cis,” he said without waiting for her to finish. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And no comment on the sexuality?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I think there’s a lot of room in a gendered identity to play around,” said Rey, taking notes anyway. “Like, who says because you’re a woman and identify as a woman, you have to only stay in a feminine box?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He visibly relaxed, but only by about half an ounce. “Right. Yes. Hence the, uh, black leather getups and the platform shoes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now we’re getting somewhere. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey leaned back. “As if you need platforms anyway. What are you, six foot five?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Six foot three. Technically, women don’t need them either, and yet…” Both eyes slid down to her feet, and Rey fought the instinct to sit on her shoes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you do the vocals, right? For KORE? I know you do vocals and a lot of the songwriting and play—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The bass, yes. I also switch out and play drums sometimes.” He lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “We’re all kind of… interchangeable in terms of musical talent if someone gets sick or hungover, and the audience wouldn’t even know the difference, but nobody ever stands in for me.” Kylo Ren’s eyes flickered up to her face suddenly, a stab of panic flashing through them, and she noticed for a moment his eyes were… </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretty, </span>
  </em>
  <span>a warm cognac brown around the pupils, hazel-green to the edges of his irises. “Fuck. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Don’t put that in your interview.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Okay.” Rey scribbled out the last line of shorthand and looked back up. “I’ll just say that you also play the drums.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nodded tightly. She couldn’t tell past the makeup, but he looked like he was still freaking out, just a little. “Yeah. Okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you… I’m not supposed to ask what you did before you signed with FOM, but I assume you grew up playing instruments?” Rey chewed on her pen nervously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did,” he said simply. “Um. Piano when I was a kid, hated it. Then I played drums when I was older, in— in school.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey felt like she’d been punched in the gut. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Drums. Marching band. Benjamin Christopher Solo. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“You did?” she asked, trying to keep her voice down to a low, even tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. After school I taught myself bass, but I was always— you know. Writing. Shit songs, mostly, until First Order Management and Empire Records worked with me to iron out the garbage and help me get my shit together.” That sounded like a pre-approved sound bite. Rey frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Am I allowed to ask how old you are?” she asked. Her palms were so sweaty she thought she might drop the pen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” His eyes had suddenly gone hard and cold again as he picked up a long black wig and settled it over his wig-capped head, securing it with pins as he glanced in the mirror. “Next question.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus Christ, I can’t get a read on this guy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She frantically riffled through her notes. “Can you tell me anything at all about KORE, about the other members?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He relaxed a little more. “After a show we like to take off all the makeup and shit and go find a Waffle House or something to eat at. Nobody recognizes us in our normal clothes. It’s kind of fun. Wearing your own face as a disguise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That does sound fun,” Rey said, offering a smile. He seemed to freeze in his seat, staring at her, but looked away when she looked back down at her notes. One of his hands was clenched into a tight, pale fist. She’d completely blanked on the rest of the questions she’d meant to ask. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Think, Rey, think! </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Um, is there anything you want to share that you think your fans would want to know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo Ren’s eyes narrowed. “What, beyond the fact I’d like them to stop stalking my hotels and flinging their dirty underwear at the van, and that I don’t want to fuck them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus,” said Rey aloud, shocked, and gave up trying to be nice. “Look, this is the first interview you’ve ever given to </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone,</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s not going to be some edgy piece where you act like a prick and I publish it. I don’t know what First Order Management says to you about your attitude or how </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> handle it, but I’m not them, and I’m trying to make this easier for both of us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes suddenly blazed to life, and he lurched off the futon, shoulders hunched. “Fuck you,” he snarled, and she was shocked by the genuine venom in his voice. “You already got me to tell you that we switch out the fucking band members, and I wasn’t supposed— I’m not supposed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>say</span>
  </em>
  <span> that, what, you think— you think you can come into my dressing room with your designer shades and your stupid glasses and act like a cute little dumbass to get me off my guard? Who the fuck still writes in </span>
  <em>
    <span>shorthand?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey’s throat was pounding, her eyes smarting with hot tears: who the hell did this guy think he was? “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she choked out, stung, her fingers gripping the cheap vinyl seat cover.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you think I’m stupid?” Kylo Ren spat, seemingly spurred on by her hurt. “Rey Niima, my ass. You can put on those glasses and grow out those bangs, but—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ice gathered in Rey’s gut. No, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, this could not be happening, she was going to throw up— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t hide, Rey Niima, or should I say </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rae Johnson.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He was grinning at her, actually grinning like a fucking animal, and Rey wanted to throw up, to run away, to get as far away from this dressing room as she could possibly get. “Did you think ten years was going to be enough for all of us to forget? How the fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>we, after being subjected to that for six months straight?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up,” she choked, trembling as her body temperature rose and her ears began to ring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo Ren’s lip lifted in a sneer, and he began to sing in a mocking imitation of her own voice at fifteen: “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey-ey-ey-ey-yeaaaah, do you wanna hold my ha-ee-a-ee-and</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but react on instinct and the next thing Rey knew she had crossed the space between them, shoulder-checked Kylo Ren back into the futon, brought her fist back, and with all the pent up rage and humiliation of the past ten years behind the swing, brought it smashing into his nose. She heard an audible </span>
  <em>
    <span>crack, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he yelled in pain, bringing his hands up to cup his paint-smeared nose, which was seeping blood. “Maybe you’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking dick</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she hissed, blinking furious tears out of her eyes, “because you don’t want anyone to know </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> little secret, you—you fucking</span>
  <em>
    <span> asshole.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m calling security—” He looked down at his hands and back up at her in shock, the blood mixing in with the white face paint and turning his upper lip and cheek pink. “What the hell are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>talking</span>
  </em>
  <span> about—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Benjamin Christopher </span>
  <em>
    <span>Solo</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she spat, and his face went completely blank, frozen into stillness. Even the fresh red blood trickling down his mouth went untouched as he sat there, abject horror written across his every feature. It made her feel a whole lot better, and Rey got her footing back, gearing up for her next words. “Yeah, don’t think I’m stupid. That’s your real name, isn’t it? Your mom’s a senator, your dad—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What. Do. You. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Want</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The words were ground out through teeth clenched so tightly they sounded like they might crack against each other, every line and muscle in Kylo Ren’s face as taut as cords. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey gathered herself. “I want—you breathe a </span>
  <em>
    <span>word</span>
  </em>
  <span> of my fucking past to a single person, I mean your manager, your bandmates, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I’m putting your real name in the fucking article.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was only silence as they both breathed, staring at each other from across the room, and then he got up in a surge of motion so fast and fluid she couldn’t move to stop it and he was pushing her up against the wall, his huge hands wrapped around both her shoulders. She realized distantly she’d forgotten to take her coat off, and she realized that he smelled like expensive cologne and leather and the metallic scent of blood, and she thought for a horrible instant he was going to headbutt her— but he didn’t, he just held his face three inches from hers and stared into her eyes, back and forth like he was looking for something. “Huh,” he said softly, as blood stained his teeth. “We’re not so different, then, are we?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let go of me,” she whispered, her heart pounding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t. He leaned in closer, his mouth close to her ear. “You won’t put my name in shit,” Kylo Ren breathed, deceptively softly. “You’d get sued for everything you owned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rolling Stone</span>
  </em>
  <span> would go under. First Order Management would destroy you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t own shit. Your boss can go fuck himself,” Rey hissed back, resolutely staring at the wall across the room. “And my bosses are protected by a bunch of fucking, you know, free speech laws. Snoke can’t override the Constitution.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sucked in a little breath of shock and let out a dry chuckle, moving back away from her. “You have no idea what he’s capable of.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me be perfectly clear,” said Rey, fists clenched at her sides. “You shut up about me, I’ll shut up about you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo Ren stepped back another pace, eyes narrowed. “A quid pro quo,” he mused. “Fine.” A slow, cautious smile spread across his face, his pink-stained teeth gleaming in the warm lights from the mirror. “They say you should always keep your enemies closer than your friends. Maybe I’ll tell Snoke I like you so much that I want to give </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rolling Stone</span>
  </em>
  <span> a big multi-part interview. Maybe you can work on a big fat multi-issue interview and come tour the country with us for a couple of weeks. How would you like that, Ms. Niima?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t miss the slight emphasis on her chosen last name. “I—” The enormity of what he’d offered came crashing down on her all at once: exclusive first-person, behind the scenes access to the most secretive band in the world? Visions of a Pulitzer danced through her head. “I’ll have to consult with my editor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You do that.” Kylo Ren turned and gave himself a look in the mirror. “You know, I think I’ll keep the blood on for the concert. Very avant-garde. Raw. They’ll eat it up.” He eyed her up with another predatory half-smile, then gestured to the door without looking at her again. “Get out of my dressing room. I have a show to run.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey didn’t wait to be told twice. She gathered her shit together and hurried out of the room without a glance back at the man who was standing in the middle of the floor, watching her go. </span>
  <span>“Hux?” she called, hoping her voice sounded steadier than it felt. The black-suited man in sunglasses appeared at the end of the hall like he’d been waiting, and walked toward her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ms. Niima. Ready to go?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she said, stumbling toward him. “Yeah, let me just, just call my ride.” She whipped out her phone and thumbed a text off to Rose, and as she pressed SEND she noticed she still had Kylo Ren’s white face paint smeared across her knuckles in an ivory matte streak. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kylo Ren’s fingertips were numb where they pressed down on the steel strings of his guitar, engraving ever deeper into the already semi-permanent grooves in the calluses there. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fucking reporter, fucking bullshit, fucking fuck fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The words he was belting out might as well have been meaningless: he hadn’t written them, some co-writer at First Order had pumped them out and he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>consulted</span>
  </em>
  <span> on them, which meant he’d read them and signed them and changed a few words, so he technically held a songwriter credit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Benjamin Christopher Solo.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That wasn’t him, not anymore: he’d given up his past, his name, his family, his life— signed away his fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>soul, </span>
  </em>
  <span>basically, to be—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No. He wasn’t going to think about that. He wasn’t going to think about Rae or Rey or whatever that washed-up failure of a teenybopper star was calling herself now, and he was absolutely not going to fixate on how his name had sounded in her mouth, spat out like it was poison.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Benjamin Christopher Solo. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He finished the song and stalked off the stage to thunderous screaming. Some stagehand behind the wall handed him a towel, and he stripped out of his soaked jacket and dried off, sweat pooling in his leather pants. That couldn’t be helped: he didn’t change those until intermission. “Here you go, sir,” said a stagehand with an earpiece, handing him a black tank top and a dark red leather coat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo shrugged them on. Across from him, the other band members were changing their wigs and masks and trading in fresh picks and drumsticks. The next song was “In The Flame” which called for a massive pyrotechnic display. He’d timed the display down to the perfect second to coincide with the chords of the chorus, and the sequined jackets were supposed to reflect the light to make them all look, for an instant, on fire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, on fucking fire,” he growled to himself, tossing the towel back at the stagehand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did you say?” asked Victor, wiggling into his jacket with an eyebrow raised.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“None of your business,” said Kylo, scowling and forgetting his nose was still tender as shit. He knew their names, their real names, not the first initials they went by in publications to protect their personas: Victor, Umar, Trix (short for Beatrix, which she fucking hated), Kate, Carter, and Adam. Half the time, Kate and Trix just wore leather masks or helmets to perform, like something out of Daft Punk, and nobody was any the wiser, especially because Kate was always sitting at the drums when she wasn’t snarling alto backup vocals in platform boots, so nobody could tell she was short and petite, and Trix was six feet tall and built like a rail. Besides that, there was the NDA the venues and their employees all had to sign...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trix passed them both. “Get your big boy glitter pasties on, kids,” she said lazily, wiping sweat off her forehead before she crammed her helmet back on. “Kylo, if you miss the chord progression this time you owe me dinner, and I will absolutely make you buy me a hashbrown bowl.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that real blood?” asked Umar, staring at Kylo’s nose. “Damn, what the hell did you say to that reporter?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo’s back prickled, a chill running down his spine in spite of the heat of his costume. “Eat shit, Umar.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carter laughed on the way back to the stage. “Leave it to Kylo to piss off the first reporter he’s ever talked to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can eat shit too, Carter,” Kylo said with slightly less venom. If he had a soft spot anywhere in his body, it was for Carter, who was aggressively gender nonconforming, five foot ten, and had once started a bar fight in Atlanta over someone calling Umar a terrorist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You keep saying that but you never serve it,” said Carter, grinning, white teeth brilliant in their red and black face paint. “Get your ass back on the stage.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Rey fucking Niima wishes she had this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kylo Ren thought vindictively as he strode back out into hot stage lighting and the wild screams of ten thousand adoring fans. He’d show her. He wasn’t ashamed of the fact he’d signed away his name and his life to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She’d missed her chance, and now...</span>
  <em>
    <span> If I have to take you all the way to Los Angeles, I will. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll show you what you could have been.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>He said what?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Amilyn sounded horrified, but elated over the phone as Rey paced in her apartment, barefoot and half-panicking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like I said, he— he said he might request to have me join him on the tour.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell did you do?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Her editor’s voice took on a vaguely careful, suspicious tone. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>If I have to get HR involved here, Rey…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey went beet red: she knew what Amilyn meant. “Nothing! I swear to God. We talked, and, and I guess he must have liked m… my style. I mean, it’s not like he’s ever had another interview to kind of, you know, act as a measuring stick.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Amilyn exhaled, a big burst of static. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay. I’m going to email FOM right now before their bus leaves. You— you pack your bags tonight, just in case, because this might be extremely last minute. And, Rey?”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>If this man pressures you, or makes demands you don’t feel comfortable about, or anything like that, you can absolutely cut it short and come back to New York. I’ll give you enough pocket money for that to be an avenue you can take.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine,” said Rey, trying to calm her heart. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s a diva who hates my fucking guts and he knows my worst secret and I know his, what could go wrong? </span>
  </em>
  <span>But she couldn’t tell Amilyn that, could she? “I don’t— I don’t think I’m his type.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a dry laugh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Honey, sometimes it’s not about type. Sometimes it’s just about power. Power is a disease, and men are a symptom.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Rey, closing her eyes against the view outside her window: the city lights, the roar of traffic, the people rushing below. “Thanks, Ms. Holdo.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her bag contained ten changes of clothes, toiletries, and her notebook, along with her charging cords, her backup phone, and her laptop. The trip back to the Garden, covered in the company car Amilyn had sent to pick her up, took less time than it had in the Uber, and before Rey could really process what was happening she had been escorted by Hux once more to a massive tour bus (one of three waiting outside the venue in a private parking area) and stepped through the huge doors into another world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nobody was on the bus yet but her, and Rey’s curiosity took over: what kind of people lived in a bus like this? It was probably bigger than her apartment. A mansion on wheels, a brownstone with all the amenities crammed into a huge Featherlite bus. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God damn. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She advanced further into the vehicle, her shoes tapping lightly on the marble floors— the kitchen area was gleaming, polished to a shine, every handle and tap looking untouched. Further back, she saw three bunks built into the wall with a curtain that looked like light-blocking material halfway pulled across them, and past that was a door that probably led to a bathroom, along a short hall that opened into a—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus,” said a voice behind her, and Rey jumped about a foot, turning to see a slender, tall woman with a neck like a Greek statue and a pair of cheekbones that should have been gracing the cover of Vogue staring at her from the living area. She was wearing a black hoodie and leggings, and held a towel in one hand. Her hair was wet, and dark blonde where it hung in damp locks. “Security’s just letting anyone on our buses now?” A hand started creeping toward a container of pepper spray, dangling from a keychain around her neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a stalker,” Rey blurted out, horrified as she backed up a step. “I, I, Hux brought me—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hux,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” groaned the woman, and as if on cue, three more people climbed up into the bus, stopping short to stare at her: a man with olive-toned skin and dark, lush hair; a white guy with a crew cut and plenty of tattoos trailing up both arms, and a— well, Rey didn’t want to be rude, but the third person had a crimson undercut and a very androgynous face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who’s this?” asked the tattooed guy, jabbing a thumb at Rey. “Did one of Kylo’s groupies get lost on the way to his bus?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, she said she’s not a stalker,” said the woman. “Carter, can you go get Hux and ask him what the fuck—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a groupie!” Rey protested, cheeks on fire. “I’m a reporter with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rolling Stone!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit!” said the other man, the one with dark hair, as he grinned so widely she thought his cheeks might fall off. “You’re that reporter that fucked his nose up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A very small stab of pride shot through her. “That’s me,” she said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The person with the undercut was glancing at their phone. “Yep, we’re all cc’d,” they said, waving their phone at the other three. “Mr. Snoke’s saying she’s gonna be joining us all from New York to Los Angeles. Which means a gazillion stops, but a cool tour of the country,” they added as an aside to Rey. “Well. Welcome aboard the crazy train, I guess. I’m Carter.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” said Rey awkwardly, waving. “You said, his bus— I saw three outside. You all have... three buses?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We have two buses for the seven of us,” explained the tattooed guy. “I’m Victor, by the way. The third’s for security and our handlers. Hux and the team.” He wrinkled his nose, and Rey made a mental note: </span>
  <em>
    <span>they don’t like the First Order’s people. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Team?” she probed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dark-haired man nodded. “We have our bodyguard— that’s Faz—”(or at least, Rey thought he said Faz) “—and we have Mitaka, but he’s our socials and PR guy. Um, and Hux is just our kinda, you know, handler. Point of contact directly with Snoke, makes sure we don’t do anything that could compromise our image.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can say </span>
  <em>
    <span>babysitter,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Umar,” said the tall woman, who was still standing in the middle of the living area as she checked her phone. “New York to L.A.  Three and a half weeks. Fucking kill me. Fine." She tucked the phone into her pocket with an air of surrender. "You snore, Ms. Niima?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“N-no,” Rey said, unsure of herself suddenly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great. We rotate out for the big bedroom in this bus. I have it tonight, you can take the middle bunk, and Carter can sleep on the sofa.” She slung her towel over her perfectly toned shoulder and headed for the bedroom without another word.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey turned, feeling like she’d been slapped with something heavy, and Carter gave her a shrug. “She’s a little prickly when it comes to new people. Sorry.” Both eyebrows went up as Carter’s face brightened a little. “I like new people, though. You never really </span>
  <em>
    <span>meet</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyone on tour, you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I bet you don’t,” said Rey, warming to Carter a little. “Um, I’m really sorry if I’m about to say something offensive, but, uh… are you…” She waved her hand helplessly. “Pronouns?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carter laughed. “Thanks. Any are fine. I like </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They it is,” said Rey, smiling back. “So, who’s on the other bus?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Adam, Kate, and Kylo.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” said Victor, shrugging. “I’m not making you sleep on the couch, Cart. I’ll bunk over there with them ‘till we get to Philly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” said Carter, fist-bumping Victor as he left the bus before sinking down into the couch. “This is the fun bus, anyway. Well, when Trix isn’t being an ice queen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh— Trix? That’s the tall girl with the, um—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, the supermodel,” Carter confirmed, grinning. “She takes a while to open up. Don’t take it personally. So how long have you been writing for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rolling Stone?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, about two years,” Rey said, sitting down and feeling way more comfortable about this whole situation. “I got my degree in journalism from CUNY a couple of years back and I landed a really great position in the editing room right after that, which, you know. Lifesaver in this economy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And now you’re touring with us,” said Carter, looking impressed. “Damn. I have to ask you, though— did you really slam Kylo’s face into a wall? Because we have a bet going, and I win twenty bucks if you did, but I’ll owe Adam forty—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Into a </span>
  <em>
    <span>wall</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Rey asked, shocked. “Oh, my god, no— I, um, well— I kind of punched him in the face.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” said Umar, poking his head back in from the hall to the bathroom. “Really? Right in the nose?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” said Rey. She was slightly warm in the cheeks: she didn’t know these people at all, and if she misspoke—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did he do?” demanded Carter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t— try to, like, feel me up or something if that’s what you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god, no,” said Umar, eyebrows raised. “He’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> type.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh— he’s not?” Rey was slightly taken aback. He’d pushed into her personal space, been nasty and biting and cold— but his bandmates, who probably knew him better than she did, didn’t think he was the kind of person who would sexually violate or assault someone? That was unexpected. She had no time to think about that, though, because they were all looking at her expectantly— to explain why she hit him. Right. “He, um, he was—” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, shit, think of something. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“He was being a dick,” she managed, with a totally straight face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that sounds like Kylo,” said Carter, shrugging before turning to the back hall and cupping both hands around their mouth. “Hey, Trix! Trix! You want to go to get food without him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A laugh floated back from the bedroom and the door opened, Trix’s head poking through. “He’d sulk for a day. No. Although the thought is fun, I gotta say. That reporter hungry?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine!” Rey said, leaning forward with a little wave.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great. Tell ‘em to start driving. We can stop on the way out at a Denny’s or something. It’s only, like, what— an hour and a half to Philly? He can wait.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Denny's was located in one of those bizarre exit-off-the-interstate places in New Jersey, a liminal space that seemed to exist solely to maintain two gas stations with harsh orange fluorescents bearing down on the asphalt as Rey stumbled out of the bus with Carter, blinking in the light. </span>
  <span>Three other people emerged from around the back, from the other bus, and as they got closer Rey could see their faces: Victor, an olive-skinned woman with wild black hair that could only be Kate, a handsome, tall man with high-boned features and immaculately cut black hair who must be Adam, and behind them—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey’s heart dropped into her stomach. Kylo Ren could only be that scowling man in a black Givenchy-branded hoodie with the hood drawn down over his forehead, but he was totally unrecognizable out of the makeup— her only clues were the red, bruised nose and the look on his face. Panic bloomed bright and sharp in her belly, but his eyes slid right over her, like he didn’t even care she was there, and he loped straight past her and up to Umar. “Took you long enough to fucking pick a spot,” he grumbled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not even a two hour ride. You can handle being hungry for five seconds.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“After a three hour show? No. Give me carbs or give me death.” They walked off, voices floating back toward the buses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey shrank back and walked with Carter. “Don’t worry about him,” Carter said, shaking their head. “I’ll even pay for your food. You can sit with me and Kate.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I haven’t met—” Rey began, but was interrupted by Kate darting up to them with a big smile. Her eyeteeth were crooked, and her dark hair was curling in the summer humidity: she was almost exactly Rey’s height.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi! Oh, my god, you must be that reporter! It is </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice to have someone new along. So did you really kick Kylo in the face, or—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She punched him in the nose,” Carter said quickly, grinning. “He was being an asshole.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course he was.” Kate rolled her eyes. “God, he did nothing but lock himself in the bedroom the whole ride here. Big baby.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He… did?” asked Rey, her interest piqued. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah. Stormed on board talking about how we all had to check our emails right that second, kicked down the bathroom door, showered for thirty damn minutes, and went right to the bedroom. It’s not even his </span>
  <em>
    <span>night.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Kate looked scandalized. “Adam’s supposed to have the bed tonight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But he— I thought it was his idea,” said Rey, lost. “He said he’d talk to Snoke…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god,” said Carter, screwing both eyes up into wrinkles. “He’s… impulsive. A lot. And then, you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>surprised Pikachu face</span>
  </em>
  <span> when his own decisions affect him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I kind of got that vibe,” Rey said, head spinning as they walked into the restaurant.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sat in a circular booth sandwiched between Carter and Kate. Kylo sat directly across from her, as far away as he could get, and ate his food like he was trying to kill it before it killed him. The restaurant lighting illuminated his face a little better, especially after he took his hood down, so she could see his real face: lush, long brown hair so dark it was almost black; a long, sullen, and strangely crooked face, with high craggy cheekbones and a constellation of moles and freckles splattered across it. His eyes were hooded, and had a strangely gentle quality to them, even when he was glaring at someone, but his mouth was just a little too wide, too soft for his hard, angular face and too big for his weak, crooked chin. She wrote out her notes in shorthand as she chatted with Kate over waffles and hashbrowns: </span>
  <em>
    <span>he looks like someone took parts from other people and Frankensteined them together into one man’s face, he looks like an old painting, he has permanent grooves on his fingertips from playing guitar, he wears designer hoodies and eats like it’s a fight. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The band talked while she wrote. What they saw online, the news, current events, how big they thought the next crowd might be, that one time someone broke into the tour van to find Adam, whether or not they might change a song around in the set list. They were clearly comfortable with each other, but Kylo… Kylo Ren was an enigma. He stayed quiet, only speaking when he was directly asked something, as if he was in his own little bubble, while Hux hovered unobtrusively by the door to the restaurant, his suit and shades traded out for a simple black T-shirt and jeans. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the check had been paid and the tip left, they headed out: nobody was in this Denny’s at midnight anyway, and the staff looked a little curious as to who these people were, but mostly went back to cleaning as they stepped back out into the parking lot. Rey hadn’t even realized that Kylo had slowed his step, falling into stride beside her at the back of the group, until he spoke and almost scared her out of her skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, if it was up to Hux,” he said softly, “you would have been thrown into his bus and not allowed to even speak to the rest of the band without direct supervision.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey swallowed and gripped her cross-body bag straps, not sure what he wanted. “That would have been boring,” she said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very,” said Kylo. “So. You’ve seen all our faces now. What do you think?” He sounded almost… </span>
  <em>
    <span>eager,</span>
  </em>
  <span> like he wanted to know her opinions suddenly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You vain idiot,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, and forced herself to pretend to think. “Hmm. I think it’s great you have two women and a genderfluid person in the band. Very diverse, too. Is Umar Middle Eastern?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Puerto Rican and Pakistani,” said Kylo, his tone changed completely. “Kate’s black, Dominican, and white. Do you want a rundown of everyone’s ethnic backgrounds? Are you writing for Huffpo, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rolling Stone?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” There it was again: that sliver of viciousness, that chip on his fucking shoulder. What was his </span>
  <em>
    <span>problem? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Adam’s half Korean—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I get it,” she said, glaring at him. “I hope you know they were all dying to know what the hell you said to me that got you punched in the face.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughed, a short, sharp bark that echoed like a gunshot. The other members were already almost at the buses, and Rey realized they’d both stopped walking at some point, standing almost alone in the middle of the parking lot (except for Hux, who hovered about thirty feet away, waiting and silent). “Yeah, and I bet you didn’t tell them shit,” he sneered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey felt her hackles rise. “I told them you were being an asshole.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s true,” he allowed, tilting his head a little. “I was. Gotta keep my fucking reputation, don’t I?” He spread out his hands. “Kylo Ren, diva, star, asshole extraordinaire.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no,” said Rey, heated by now, “no, I think you’re just a fucking asshole regardless, and you’d be an asshole by any other name. You can just get away with it now, because you have money, but trust me, if you had nothing, people would give you way more than a punch in the face.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo grinned, slow and nasty. “Well, you’d know all about having nothing, wouldn’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was not going to let that needle her again, and forced her voice to remain even. “I know about having real friends who don’t think it’s funny when I get hurt. But, hey. I guess money </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> buy you everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Rey turned on her heel to stomp back to the buses, she was shocked to see a stricken look spill across Kylo Ren’s long, strange face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought angrily, </span>
  <em>
    <span>good, I’m glad: he’s a fucking asshole and now he knows how it feels. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She left him standing there alone in the middle of the parking lot, silent as a ghost as he watched her go.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Philadelphia was hot and sticky and smelled like the water in the Schuylkill River had all dredged up the mud from the bed. The buses pulled into the lot at the Wells Fargo Center amid a screaming crowd of fans, and everyone had to wait to get off until the lot had been cleared and secured by the stadium’s security team, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> an hour after arriving, they all disembarked, safely concealed in hoodies and face masks while people screamed and shrieked from the barricades.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey hurried along behind, trying to look important in her one smart blazer and her sensible shoes, but feeling very small sandwiched between the two people she had been introduced to as Mitaka and Phasma (Phas, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>Faz, </span>
  </em>
  <span>like she’d thought initially). Mitaka was a slim, tailored man with black hair and rounded glasses who had at least five different phones on him at all times and was constantly texting, and Phasma was just as tall as Trix and blonde, too, but there the resemblance ended: Phasma was as broad-shouldered as any one of the guys in the band and had a mean resting face, with cold blue eyes. She seemed to wear exclusively black and silver, and wore those chunky, thick-soled sneakers that Rey thought looked like dad shoes. She was impressed, though. Who knew you could get white and holographic Nikes in a women’s size thirteen?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She kept scribbling notes as they went inside, as they all peeled off to their respective dressing rooms, and as Hux directed her to pick a band member to speak to while they got ready. She hadn’t gotten a chance to really meet Adam yet, so she slipped into his room after knocking, and perched on the sofa while he dabbed on white and black face paint. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what do you play on the stage?” she asked, swinging her feet as she wrote.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do backup vocals and the keyboard, mostly, but I can fill in for the bass if I have to,” he told her, smiling easily. “Been on board since the band was started. They’re a good group, you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They definitely are. You’re all close, then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t say we’re all tightly knit with each other, you know, like any big group— some people get along fine with three or four, but closer to one or two— some people are more well liked. You know.” Adam carefully painted his lips black and reached for a brush.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s really interesting to me that you’re all anonymous, but still… diverse, like you’re not just six white guys.” Rey tapped her pencil to her lips. “Sorry, thinking out loud.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Adam snorted dryly. “Yeah. No comment on that one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was an intriguing comment. Rey wrote down: </span>
  <em>
    <span>commented on diversity despite anonymity &amp; Adam was a little contemptuous about the situation?? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“No problem,” she said. “What do you like most about your job?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes flickered up to hers in the mirror. “The security,” he said, and smiled like he was having an inside joke with himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey left the room and took a water bottle with her on the way out, tucking her notes back into her bag. Kate, already in her leather half-mask, was walking past, chatting with a technician about a sound check, and paused when she saw Rey. “I’ll catch up with you on the stage,” she said to the tech, who nodded and hurried off. “Hey. Look, try not to, uh— you haven’t seen Kylo today yet?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Rey told her, somewhat hesitant. “Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighed. “Um. Nothing. He’s just— been a lot more prickly than usual. Won’t even talk to Carter, and fuck knows why— he </span>
  <em>
    <span>gets along</span>
  </em>
  <span> with Carter. I would just stay out of his way until he cools off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god,” said Rey, blinking. “Wait— he’s not, like, he doesn’t— is he </span>
  <em>
    <span>abusive</span>
  </em>
  <span> to you guys?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kylo? Jesus, no,” said Kate, who looked shocked at the idea. “Not, like— he’s not gonna </span>
  <em>
    <span>hit</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyone.” Rey suddenly felt a little guilty. “He’ll just scowl and storm around and be miserable to be around and get nasty. If he breaks anything it’ll be his own shit. But he’ll play a hell of a show.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay. I’ll just, um— I’ll head down to the green room or something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kate shook her head. “No, don’t go to the green room. We have about a hundred people who got their hands on backstage passes to see us at intermission in there, and they’ll eat you alive. Just hang out around until we go up at seven. I think Hux has a seat reserved for you, if you want it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey nodded and moved away as Kate hurried back up the hall. She found Hux, who silently guided her out the side door and to a seat close to the side doors of the arena: she had a great view of the stage, only about a hundred feet away, and she wasn’t hedged in by forty people. “What good is a reporter if you never see a show?” asked Hux with a small smile as she sat down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” she said, peering down at the stage. She had time to kill, so she pulled her phone out, texted Rose to check in, and checked Twitter. Most of the trending tweets in the area were about the concert, with a lot of #KORENATION hashtags and fancams in the replies of tweets. She sighed and looked up as the lights began to dim, a collective scream of excitement rising up from the crowd as they realized they were about to see their idols in the flesh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The opening bars of “Faceless Sun” started blasting through the stadium, and Rey couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows, impressed, as KORE rose from below the stage on hydraulic platforms, glittering in black leather and paint as the song launched into the full first lyric, two of the members snarling out the words into microphones. Rey realized, with some shock, that she couldn’t even tell from here who was singing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stage’s backdrop opened as the pyrotechnics went off, and Kylo Ren came storming out to an insane uproar from the audience, who went nuts, singing along as he scream-sang the chorus into his mic: </span>
  <em>
    <span>here’s the trigger, here’s the gun, blow the head off this faceless sun. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey could see the swinging black coat, the glittering harness strapped across his chest, the red and black face paint half-covered by a leather mask that seemed glued to his face. He was bent over the mic, gripping it like it had personally insulted him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The song finished and they started their next one. Rey settled in, but once they’d gotten to song number three on the list, “You Can’t Kill Me”, she began to feel unsettled: Kylo seemed to be hyperactive, stalking around the stage like a caged animal, and weirdly focused in her direction as he swung his head, slammed his guitar up and down, and screamed out lyrics into his mic. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, my god, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking at me,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” crowed the girl sitting in front of her to her friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, Anna, he’s looking at </span>
  <em>
    <span>me,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” insisted her friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re both right, I hope,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey thought dismally, pressed back into her seat as the discomfort mounted and he kept staring in her direction, kept slamming his feet down, and the angry, aggressive lyrics played on and on.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The concert finally ended, and Rey was glad when it was over: she slipped out the side door, where Mitaka was waiting, and was escorted back out to the bus: there was no reason for her to wait in the dressing rooms while everyone else was cleaning up and getting changed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stepped into the bus, and took a deep breath of fresh air: so many </span>
  <em>
    <span>people,</span>
  </em>
  <span> so much screaming and noise. It would make for a good atmospheric paragraph, though. She’d have to write that down… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door opened, and with a heavy tread, in came Kylo Ren, dripping with sweat, half his makeup melted off, and reeking of body odor and leather. Rey shrank back against the wall, startled as he marched in. “So,” he snapped, eyes bright and alert as he focused on her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what?” she blurted out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The concert,” he said angrily. “The fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>concert, </span>
  </em>
  <span>ten thousand people screaming for me and my </span>
  <em>
    <span>fake friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What did you think?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was loud,” she told him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus, why is he so hyped up?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Are you on drugs?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> you,” snarled Kylo, and stormed further in, making Rey go stiff as he encroached into her personal space, planting both hands on either side of her hips on the kitchen counter in the bus. She froze. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>big</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and smelled terrible, and was right up in her face. “Fucking tell me. What did you </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span>, huh? All those people, there for </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And it could have been for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> if you’d had the fucking guts to try.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Heat flooded her body: embarrassment, consternation at being trapped in here with him, and maybe something else brought on by how close he was she didn’t want to explore too deeply. “Fuck you,” she managed. “I was fifteen. I was being </span>
  <em>
    <span>bullied</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, cry me a fuckin’ river,” he growled. “The right PR could have gotten you anywhere you wanted, but you were too chickenshit to move past it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I could kick him in the balls right now,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, staring directly into his eyes. “I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything to do with PR or fame or— or—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit,” he spat, avidly searching her face. “Bullshit. You wanted it, even back then, didn’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have been paying someone to write that song for you, or produce it, or make that video.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We want a lot of things when we’re fifteen,” Rey said coldly. “Then we grow up. Or at least most of us do, you know, since you’re at least thirty, still wearing fucking costumes, and prancing around on a stage.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo’s jaw tightened into a rippling knot below his cheek, and Rey had just enough time to think </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> before he wrenched himself away from her, stormed out the door, and slammed it so hard that it rattled in its casing, leaving Rey to sink down onto the sofa, trembling and feeling like she’d just been flipped upside down. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next stop on the tour was Charlotte, North Carolina, for two days. It was over an eight hour drive, and after sleeping on the bus, Rey curled up on the couch and wrote as Carter and Trix played around on their iPads, chatting, and Kate listened to music with her Airpods in and her eyes shut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s day two on the road with KORE. I find myself sitting in a gleaming, top of the line tour bus with C, T, and K, and we are all watching the trees become palms and Spanish moss start taking over the trees. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That was an awkwardly worded sentence. She’d fix it later. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The other two buses hold V, A, U, and Kylo Ren himself. The bus drivers are very nice, but don’t talk a lot: I think they might be ex military from their haircuts and general bearing. The third bus holds the FOM team that travels with KORE constantly: Hux, the point of contact directly with Snoke; Mitaka, the social media and PR guy; and Phasma, who scares the shit out of me. Her job is security. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kylo Ren is… as mercurial as phosphorus; ready to blow on a moment’s notice. He’s not the type of diva performer you might expect him to be, but there seems to be some deep well of fury and anger inside him that he draws from to explode outward into a dynamic performance for the stage. His moods change on a dime, but the other band members seem to take it in stride—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Rey,” said Kate, taking an Airpod out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” asked Rey, looking up from her keyboard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you… tell Kylo we all hated him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey froze in her seat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, shit shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Um,” she said, panic bubbling up in her chest as she saw Trix and Carter looking at her, waiting for the answer. “No. I didn’t say that. I said— he was—” </span>
  <em>
    <span>How the fuck do I explain this without telling them all I did that awful song?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “He was being an asshole and made some dig at me about having nothing and how great he was because he had money, and I told him money couldn’t buy everything and, and, I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” said Trix, looking bored. “You said something about us being fake friends, didn’t you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… yeah,” said Rey, humiliated. “I’m so— I didn’t even think about—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus,” said Carter, rubbing their eyes. “You’re like our personal Yoko Ono. Someone’ll blame you for us all fighting when it’s an issue we’ve been having for years.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That didn’t make Rey feel much better. “Is he mad? He came in here and got really weird about the concert, asking me what I thought about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He likes impressing people,” said Kate, sighing. “Seriously. Let me tell you something about Kylo Ren, Rey— behind that big tough shell of—” she scowled, imitating his expression— “and the growling and stomping and prickly shit, he’s… how would you put it, Carter?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carter sighed. “Not exactly a big softie, but… let’s just say if he asks you how you liked the concert and you say it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>well put together</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>so impressive</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>cohesive</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>well-timed</span>
  </em>
  <span> and that the set list was flawless, he’ll be fucking putty in your hands.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The… concert?” Rey must have had an incredulous look on her face, because Trix burst out laughing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. He does half the prep work and direction for the poor stage techs, for fuck’s sake. Never compliment </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> directly, because he’ll get suspicious of your motives, but if you tell him you like what he </span>
  <span>does</span>
  <span>? He won’t even know what to do with himself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know he did the set design,” said Rey. “He never said—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t say,” said Kate. “Ever. It’s private. He really likes being involved in the lighting and pyrotechnics and shit. Who knows why.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What I want to know is why is he fishing for compliments from a </span>
  <em>
    <span>reporter?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” asked Carter. “He must like you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he absolutely does not like me,” said Rey firmly. “He— he—” </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, this will blow up in my fucking face, won’t it?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She took the plunge anyway. “He found out something embarrassing about my past and he won’t stop needling me about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” asked Trix, brow furrowed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I’m the Hold My Hand girl,” she forced out between her palms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ho—</span>
  <em>
    <span>holy</span>
  </em>
  <span> shit,” said Carter, shocked. “Rae Johnson? That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she said, feeling tears well up behind her eyes. “God, please don’t—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And he made </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span> of you for that?” exclaimed Kate, incensed. “You were </span>
  <em>
    <span>fifteen!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She jumped out of her seat. “I’m gonna make the driver stop, I’m gonna go beat the shit out of him—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have time for that,” said Trix calmly. “Rae Johnson, huh? I actually kind of liked Hold My Hand. I thought it was catchy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You—” Rey lifted her head out of her hands. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you know. With a little work it could have been good. I think people just hated it because you were an easy target. Dorky teenage girl, autotune.” Trix waved her hand. “As if every teenager doesn’t have a dorky phase.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey decided not to say what was on her mind—that there was absolutely no way the sculpted blonde woman sitting across from her had </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> had a dorky phase—and instead said, “Oh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But why is he being such a weirdo about you?” Carter leaned back in the leather seat, frowning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because—” Rey took a huge breath. “Because I know something about him that he doesn’t want anyone to find out, and I’m not saying shit as long as he doesn’t go around the whole world telling everyone I’m the fucking Hold My Hand girl.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a long silence in the bus, and she began to be afraid she’d said something wrong. “Oh,” said Kate, long and drawn-out in a very different tone. “Shit, lady. You’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>journalist,</span>
  </em>
  <span> journalist.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was— I didn’t purposely— it wasn’t—” Rey felt at a loss for words. Even Carter was looking at her with a shocked expression on their face. “I’m not going to say anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re blackmailing him?” asked Trix, eyebrows raised.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s blackmailing </span>
  <em>
    <span>me!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Rey protested. “He brought my shit up first at the interview at the Garden, and I just snapped and let it out that I knew something about him and we agreed to— he said it was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>quid pro quo</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trix exchanged a look with Kate. “You think we should tell Hux?” she said doubtfully: the first uncertainty Rey had ever heard coming out of her mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit! Shit, shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“No,” said Rey, hands starting to shake. “No, please don’t. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t.” If it got to Hux, it would get to Snoke, and if it got to Snoke, she’d be dumped by the side of the road at the first opportunity. Career, over. She knew enough about First Order Management to know that much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll text Kylo,” said Carter tersely, and lurched up off the chair. “Don’t say shit to Hux. That jackass’s nose is always in our business anyway. We’ll stop for lunch somewhere and then we’ll figure out what to do about this.” Rey slightly relaxed, but not by a whole lot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How the hell are you planning to keep that from Hux?” demanded Kate. “He’s always fucking hovering! And if he finds out that we knew and didn’t say anything—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s not gonna find out,” said Trix, eyes like blue steel. “He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Go dig that burner phone out of the mattress in the bedroom.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Burner phone?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey could only sit there, shocked, as Kate ran for the bedroom and came back with an old flip phone, which she slapped into Carter’s hand like she’d done it a million times before. Carter flipped it open and started texting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trix whirled on Rey. “You say a fucking word in your article about this, and I’ll personally head up the FOM lawsuit to bring you down,” she said, in a voice as cold and final as death.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I— I’m not— I said I won’t—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carter looked up. “He says we can trade off and put her on his when we break for lunch, send Victor back over here. He doesn’t want her near Hux. We’ll just say it’s her turn to head to the other bus for a while and let her get the full experience talking to everyone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sounds solid,” said Kate anxiously, tapping her foot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, oh god I don’t want to be on a bus with Kylo Ren. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But what was the alternative? “Okay,” said Rey, tears welling in her eyes. “I— I’m sorry, I’m really sorry about this, and I’m sorry you don’t want me around anymore.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Trix stared at her. “Jesus Christ—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say anything,” said Carter quickly. “The less she knows, the better. Just get them to stop at a Cracker Barrel or something and trade off after lunch.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey felt like a prisoner being transported as she headed over to the other bus after lunch in the deep, thick Virginia heat that pressed down on her head, humid and sticky. Hyper-aware of both Hux’s and Kylo Ren’s eyes trained on her as she climbed up into the bus with her bags, she almost stumbled, and Adam caught her, carefully helping her up into the interior as the cool relief of the air conditioning soaked her clothes and skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door shut, but she couldn’t exhale in relief, not when Kylo Ren was sitting on the sofa, arms crossed, glaring at her from under his gray baseball cap. “We need to have a conversation you’re not going to like, Miss Niima,” he said darkly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus,” said Umar, ankles crossed as he played on his phone. “Chill out, man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In private,” said Kylo, like he hadn’t even heard Umar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey stiffened. The only private place anyone had in these buses was the toilet or the back bedroom, and she did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> care for the idea of being locked in a room with Kylo, but... “Fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stood up and beckoned her to follow, and she trailed along the hall to the bedroom as the bus’s hydraulics hissed and the vehicles began to roll out. Kylo entered and held the door for her, and she stepped into the bedroom as he shut it firmly behind her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room was more spacious than she’d thought, even with a king size bed taking up most of the wood-paneled floor. Kylo’s bag was sitting on the bed, and that was the only sign he was even occupying the room. He turned to her, crossing his arms as she stood awkwardly at the foot. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not sitting on that bed while he’s in here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you’re about to yell at me for— for—” Rey took a deep breath. “I didn’t tell them anything about you, okay? I just said I knew something and that was why you keep— they wanted to know why you acted like you had it out for me, and I was honest but not detailed, except, except on my part.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes narrowed. “You told them </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> secret and not mine?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she said, embarrassed all over again just thinking about it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Carter implied as much. I didn’t believe it.” Kylo tilted his head a little to the left, as if sizing her up. “You realize if Hux gets a single whiff of your background he’ll have you off this bus faster than you can say </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” said Rey uncomfortably. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You understand as well that if Hux gets even the slightest idea that you know my fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>legal name</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you’ll be kicked off the bus and sent back to New York, your editor will be castigated to within an inch of her life and possibly lose her job, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> First Order Management will absolutely demand you’re fired immediately, in addition to a probable lawsuit because you would have violated the contract from Empire Records that your editor signed to get you onto this bus in the first place?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey swallowed very hard. “Yes,” she whispered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stepped closer, and she fought not to stiffen where she stood. Both eyes (really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span> eyes, a shame they belonged to a giant asshole) bored down into hers. “Look at me,” he demanded. Forcing herself to meet his gaze was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she did it: she glared directly into his eyes until he looked away for a moment. “The only people you need to worry about knowing anything about both of our little secrets is First Order Management,” he said in a clipped, flat voice. “Nobody in KORE is going to spill shit about you or me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do they… do they already know about you?” asked Rey, feeling shaken.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Kylo Ren, snapping back around to look at her. “And they won’t, if you stay quiet. Can you do that until we get to Los Angeles?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she said, biting back a saltier retort. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good. Don’t fucking talk to Hux. Don’t tell him anything about anything. Or Mitaka, or Phasma. You talk to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she said, gearing back up. “Fine. I’ll talk to you. Why the hell are you being so </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me all the damn—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, grow a fucking thicker skin,” Kylo snapped. “What do you think this is, grade school?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s evading the question. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“You know what?” she said coolly, standing her ground. “I think you’re jealous. Because I have a real job and a future that doesn’t involve being a D-list celebrity guesting on American Idol for a season.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Laughter burst from between his lips. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Jealous.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I don’t know what you think you have that I could possibly want, Rey Niima.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. You sounded kind of mad when I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>real friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she shot back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get more creative,” he snapped, eyes gone bright and wild. “There’s nothing I hate more than a boring, overused insult.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you want me to get creative?” snapped Rey. “Fine. You look like a fucking Easter Island head.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo Ren snorted. “Like I didn’t hear that my whole fucking—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t done. “And I think you’re so insulated from the real fucking world in your little bubble of messing with groupies and being a spoiled diva that you have no idea how to talk to normal people anymore, and one day the whole band’s going to implode in on itself and it’s absolutely going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>your fault.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All the color drained from his face, even as he maintained a sick-looking grin that seemed pasted on. “You can </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span>? And here I was assuming you were just a empty-headed excuse for a reporter.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Which of us has a college degree, again?” Rey asked loftily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughed. It was not a nice sound. “Oh, you have a degree? In what? Underwater basket weaving?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Two, actually, both in journalism and in English.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.” Kylo Ren looked like he was actually vibrating with fury, and Rey became suddenly aware she was standing between him and the door. “And which one of those helped you get over your humiliating little teenage stunt? That must have </span>
  <em>
    <span>sucked, </span>
  </em>
  <span>having your career nipped in the bud—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aw, I’m so flattered you think I could have had a career,” she cooed, batting her eyelashes in mock sweetness. Scarlet blotches bloomed across his face: this was clearly not an angle of attack he was used to, made evident by his mouth falling open as he stammered, and then his rage rising as he realized he was humiliating himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Any fucking idiot can have a career,” he snarled, trying to get his footing back. “It takes a fucking spine to be a star, Rey Niima, and you were apparently born without one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s how I get into small spaces,” she agreed, enjoying his expressions as he realized nothing he said was going to get to her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ha, ha, bitch! How does it feel?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You know, I’m like a cat, if my head can fit, I can just—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re never going to be fucking famous a day in your life,” he said through pale trembling lips. “You’re not going win a fucking Pulitzer. You have no taste in music and no ear for it. You’re never even going to make it past the editing room at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rolling Stone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because you’re going to fuck this little trip up all by yourself. I won’t even need to breathe near you. Your little article is going to flop, and you’ll end up writing copy for the rest of your ‘career’ until you give up in a year and go start working at a Starbucks, where you belong.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey couldn’t fucking breathe. How dare he. How </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span> he. Heat flooded her face, her eyes, tears welling up in them, and he was smiling like he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>won</span>
  </em>
  <span> something, watching her like a hawk. “You’re fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrible,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she choked out. “No wonder your mother never talks about you to anyone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The grin slid off his face like hot butter. “You—” In the blink of an eye, rage had twisted his features, and he had gripped her by the arms, turning her around so that he was between her and the door, and shoved her back up against the wall of cabinets. “Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span> talk about my </span>
  <em>
    <span>mother,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he snarled, voice sunk low and ragged. “Keep her name out of your fucking mouth.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey couldn’t help it. The whole situation was so fucking ludicrous: she was locked into some crazy power struggle with one of the most famous men in the world, and he had her shoved up against a dresser because she’d mentioned his </span>
  <em>
    <span>mom.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She started laughing right in his face. It wasn’t meant to be cruel, just hysterical, disbelieving laughter that came out in hiccups as leftover tears streaked down her cheeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook her roughly, his jaw tight. “You think this is a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>joke</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” he hissed into her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I do,” she gasped, and pulled herself together. “What the hell do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> from me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo Ren hesitated for the briefest of seconds, then let go of her arms like she’d burned him. “Nothing,” he ground out through his teeth. “Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He stepped back, his hands empty and clenched into fists at his sides. “Get out of my room.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She went.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo’s mood didn’t improve for the rest of the drive to Charleston. Rey spent her time chatting with Umar and Adam and trying to write more, but was mostly preoccupied with staring out the window quietly and thinking about how much she disliked Kylo Ren.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Something else is going on. Something. I don’t know what it is, and he won’t be honest about anything. I don’t think he’s capable of being honest, actually. What did Kate say about the stage effects? He worked on them, right? Maybe if I just bite the bullet and…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stopped at their hotel, the Dewberry, around noon and filed out into the lobby, heads down and unobtrusive as Hux silently checked everyone in and handed out room keys. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ms. Niima will be staying in 105,” he said, handing her the key. “I’ll be in 106. Phasma will be in 107, and Mitaka will be in 101: the rest of you have the suites at the end of the hall in 117-113.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey’s stomach roiled. One oh-five: trapped between Phasma and Mitaka with Hux directly across from her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> There would be no slipping out to interview anyone without one of them seeing or hearing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Change it,” said Kylo Ren, not even looking at her as he stared at Hux. “Snoke wanted the reporter to have full access to us. Trix, trade with Ms. Niima.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hux’s green eyes narrowed as Trix handed Rey her key and Rey tucked the other one into her pocket, registering the number on the outside: 120. “I don’t mind downgrading,” Trix said in a bored tone. “As long as I get a good one on one interview tonight.” She winked at Rey, and Rey flushed, taken aback. That was apparently enough for Hux to disregard the exchange, and they all trundled up with their bags to the huge elevators, packing in with Phasma at the doors, ready to mean-mug whatever unfortunate soul might see them through the opening doors on the way to their rooms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once they’d headed down the carpeted, silent hall and peeled off to find their respective suites, Rey was discomfited to find that her new room, 120, was right next to Kylo Ren’s suite in 122, and there was a very awkward moment where they were both not looking at each other as they struggled with the keys before getting their doors open and hurrying inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought as she closed the door behind her and sighed. The suite was beautiful, but she barely saw any of its elegant luxury: the adjoining door along the connecting wall to Kylo’s room immediately drew her eye. “Oh, shit,” she said aloud, and rushed to it, wondering for a horrible moment if it could be opened from the inside, or the outside. She tried it, and realized it locked from her side. With a sigh of relief, she unlocked it, just to make sure, and swung the door inward—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>—to reveal Kylo Ren, his door also opening inward to his room, doing exactly the same thing she was doing. Their eyes met, and a splotchy flush drowned his cheeks and nose. “I didn’t know they connected,” he said, by way of explanation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I— I didn’t think you did,” she said, unaware of how to take that. “I was just—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Checking,” he finished for her, and then, as if he was challenging her, “My suite’s bigger than yours. Trix’s, I mean. It’s the corner room. You want to see it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey let her eyebrows wrinkle into a scowl. “Why, so you can rub in my face how much better it is than mine?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, who the fuck let you be a reporter?” he grumbled, glaring at her from under his hood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She mimed his own words back silently and sarcastically, then glanced at her phone. “Oh. Would you look at this? Twitter’s blowing up. Looks like someone saw you guys pull up to the hotel. Lots of speculation on what rooms you’re all in. Guarantee you someone’ll put two and two together and find out the Grand Poobah Of Music, Kylo Ren himself, is staying in a fancy-schmancy corner room.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo looked uncomfortable for a moment, then smoothed it over again. “If anyone tries to get up here, Phasma will eat them alive. She’s probably bugging the whole floor with cameras as we speak.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh,” said Rey, glancing past him and into the room, which was, indeed, bigger than hers, and boasted a four-poster canopy king-sized bed tucked behind a sitting area. “Hope that bed’s up to the challenge.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you’re implying,” he snapped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do. Have fun with your groupies. But if you wake me up before six, I’ll murder you with my bare hands.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was beginning to close the door when he blurted out, as if he was afraid to say it, “I’ve never slept with a groupie. I don’t—” and then stopped, cutting himself short. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, that was an interesting tidbit. Rey elected to ignore the second part of his sentence for now and opened the door a little wider again. “You don’t have sex with your groupies? I thought that was par for the course with bands this big.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, no.” That sullen look was settling back over his face. “Dating isn't safe. And—distractions are not encouraged.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“By… Hux?” Rey prodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“By everyone,” he said shortly. “Photo ops are fine. Backstage passes are fine. But whatever you’re thinking about backstage passes— that shit doesn’t fly around here. So you’re not going to get some scoop about how many girls or guys we all pass around or whatever.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who do you think I write for,</span>
  <em>
    <span> Playboy</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” An idea entered her mind, something she’d read forever ago online. “Wait. So that woman who claimed she had a six-way gangbang with KORE while you watched—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He barked a laugh. “Fucking bullshit, is what that was. Woman was, like, forty and fucking obsessed with us. She even waited outside the backstage door to scream at younger girls who had the same pass she did, saying they were sluts who didn’t deserve it because she was going to marry us all or something. I made Adam wear my outfit that night. We switched places. He got groped and she got booted out and told she was banned from all future concerts. Somehow she got the idea that she was banned because our combined torrid adoration for her was threatening to tear the band apart. She also thinks Trix is a man named Tom, and that Tom and I are in a secret gay relationship.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey had to laugh at the look on his face, and his reaction… he </span>
  <em>
    <span>brightened,</span>
  </em>
  <span> somehow, his brows lifting and his face almost relaxing. “Well, you did get adjoining rooms,” she said, waggling her eyebrows in a mock-surprised expression. “Oh-ho. The plot thickens.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He snorted. “I don’t know if you noticed, but Trix is ninety-eight percent uninterested in men.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, I noticed.” This was nicer, she thought, than yelling at him, or him snapping at her. Maybe this would work out. Maybe they could tolerate each other for the rest of the tour after all. “If the two percent is Adam, though, I would absolutely get it. He looks like a freaking K-drama star.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As if a candle had gone out, Kylo Ren’s face abruptly changed from bright and amused to sullen and blank, a shutter slamming down over his features. “If looks are all that matters, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he snarled as his face morphed from blank sternness to outright hostility. “But Trix isn’t a shallow fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>moron.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey physically recoiled, bewildered at the sudden change in mood. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck? What did I say? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Enjoy the concert tonight!” he almost yelled before slamming the door in her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sat in her room writing furiously until Hux came to collect her, and she followed him out to the lobby. A fairly sizable group of diehard fans had gathered in front of the building on the sidewalk, and in order to avoid a riot, Hux had authorized all the band members to leave in small groups with each other, instead of all together on the sleek black bus that had been chartered to take them to the venue two hours ahead. People were looking for six men in black, not a group of casually dressed, bored-looking couples leaving the hotel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kate paired up with Adam first, both of them calling an Uber and pretending they had no idea why there were so many people gathered on the street. It worked like a charm, so Trix went with Mitaka and Victor next. After that, Hux directed Phasma to take Umar, and to his credit, he played up the “smitten boyfriend” angle so well that she almost, </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost </span>
  </em>
  <span>cracked a smile as they waited on the curb.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When their Uber had disappeared, Hux checked his watch. “Carter,” he said icily. “You can go with Ren in five minutes. Pull whatever angle you want as long as it works—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can take Carter,” Kylo suggested, in his most bored tone. “You could be siblings. Look at the hair.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carter choked back a snort, and Rey bit her tongue so she wouldn’t laugh at Hux, who was turning as red as Carter’s undercut. “Yes, let’s,” said Carter, grinning. “We’ll be siblings. Drunk siblings. I’ll throw my arm around your shoulder and everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think they’re getting bored,” said Rey, peering out the windows of the lobby. “Some of them are looking at their phones, and I think a few walked away.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good. That means it’s working,” said Hux.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus,” said Kylo Ren, rubbing his eyes. “You’d think you were running Operation Eagle Claw or something. I’ll take Ms. Niima out to an Uber next, and you and Carter can be last.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“By all means,” said Hux, glancing at his watch again. “We wouldn’t want to lose our pet reporter.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you have a problem with her, you’re welcome to take it up the chain,” said Kylo through his teeth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m fully aware this was your idea,” Hux said, his voice sharpening ever so delicately into a razor-thin edge, “and that Mr. Snoke indulges your little idiosyncrasies to a ridiculous extent. By all means, take her in the car. One less thing for me to worry about.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And that was how Rey found herself walking beside Kylo Ren, his hoodie changed out for a boring, straightforward white Armani button-down, his dark hair gently waving in the wind as he walked her to the parking lot and toward the street. The fans camping out on the sidewalk turned toward them, scrutinizing their appearance, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wondering,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Rey felt a stab of panic: what if one of them </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew,</span>
  </em>
  <span> what if—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t do this,” she said through numb lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you can,” said Kylo through his teeth. “Give me your hand. Couples hold hands.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re not a couple, and I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> holding your—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gripped her fingers in his and shoved her hand into the crook of his elbow, tucking her fingers in close to his hot body and smooth cotton shirt, and Rey made a strangled noise of protest that faded as he gently pulled her forward. “Eyes on me,” he said, and she looked up at him, barely able to think: she’d never walked like this with a guy before. It was some weird thing that, like, old Hollywood movie stars did, wasn’t it? “Good. Now laugh at something I said.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She swallowed and managed to let out a giggle, and it was like the eyes boring into them just… slid away, uninterested: clearly these two boring looking, normal people were not the targets that the KORE Nation was looking for. “Like that?” she whispered as they reached the sidewalk and stood, waiting, for their Uber.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Exactly like that.” His honey-brown eyes glanced down across her face for a moment before he let a natural-looking smile drift across his features, and Rey was… suddenly almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>starstruck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His face became something completely different when he was smiling, really smiling: he looked goofy and sweet and gentle and kind, and he had cute crooked teeth and creases at the corners of his eyes and big furrows at the corners of his mouth—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Scuse me,” said a voice, and Rey jumped out of her reverie, staring at a girl who wore a black T-shirt with the band’s logo printed across it, black nail polish, and a silver nose piercing. “Um, hi. This might be a super weird question, but did you guys— you guys are staying at the Dewberry, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yep,” said Kylo smoothly. Rey’s eyes went over the girl’s shoulder to the crowd, who seemed to be breathlessly awaiting their next words, and felt very uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t, like, hear anyone say that there was a band staying there, did you?” asked the girl.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A band?” Rey echoed, looking puzzled. “Like a marching band?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Someone in the back laughed, and the girl with the piercing shook her head emphatically. “Oh my god, no,” she said, already on her phone, no doubt to update Twitter. “Forget about it. Have a nice night!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks! You too!” Rey even waved as the Uber pulled up, and got in, sliding to the far end as Kylo shouldered his way in clumsily and greeted the driver. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Evening,” he said. “Spectrum Center. Whichever way’s fastest is fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You got it,” said the driver, tapping his phone as they pulled away from the curb and into traffic. “Y’all going to the concert? Date night?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey went scarlet, but Kylo reached for her hand and pinned it under his. “Yes,” he said firmly, ears turning red where they poked out from under his hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s a big fan of the band,” said Rey pointedly, smiling at the driver in the rear-view mirror. “He really wants me to see what all the fuss is about, so here I am!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on hers. He had very big hands. “If you don’t like it, I’ll buy you dinner,” he told her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was that meant to be sincere? She couldn’t tell, but pretended it was anyway. “Pizza, dear,” she informed him, smiling sweetly, and Kylo blinked for a moment, staring down into her eyes, then looked out the front of the car, breathing like he was trying to calm down.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>They exited the car and circled to the back of the venue. Kylo had let her hand go the minute they’d stepped out of sight of the crowds, but kept one of his hands pressed lightly against the small of her back, guiding her toward the back doors, which were crawling with uniformed security. Rey suddenly had a thought: what if they didn’t let them in? They were in plainclothes, and she didn’t have her press pass: that was with Hux. She hesitated, but Kylo urged her forward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry,” he whispered, leaning over slightly. “You don’t have to be afraid of them. You’re with me now.” They walked up together, Rey’s heart pounding, and all Kylo Ren had to do was dig out his own pass and flash it at the officers, who let him though with her in tow. Kylo kept his hand on her back until they’d reached the dressing rooms, at which point he dropped it and stood in the hall, looking down at her as she stood outside Trix’s door, her belly turning flips and her palms sweaty. Whether it was from the stress or something else, she didn’t know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the escort,” she managed, trying to look anywhere but at his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you heard Hux,” he said smoothly. “Have to keep my pet reporter close by, don’t I?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey didn’t have an answer for that one before he turned on his heel and stalked away, back down the hall.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trix’s interview was not exactly unproductive, but Rey felt like she was talking to a wall made of ice. Beautiful, flawless, sculpted ice. All she could really get out of her was that she liked being part of the band, enjoyed working out, liked bass, and could play a mean keyboard, but beyond that? Absolutely nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t have much time to try for another member to speak to, though, like Victor— mentally, Rey noted him down for the next night, because by the time she’d finished her notes, it was time for the show to begin, and she was being taken back out to the stadium and escorted to a front-row seat with the rest of the press and photographers. Being sandwiched between a guy from the Associated Press and a woman from the local newspaper with what felt like ten thousand people pressed against her back was not her idea of a fun time, but Rey forgot about that as soon as the lights came flashing up and the opening chords of “I Know My Enemy” came screaming out through the loudspeakers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thank God for the earplugs Hux had given her. Even through the foam, the music was perfectly audible, and clear as a bell: she wondered if the band would go deaf by the time they were forty. The pyrotechnics exploded and spewed cartwheels of flame across the stage, and out came KORE to a scream of approval from the packed stadium, guitars wailing and drums thundering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were seven on stage, but Rey couldn’t pick out which one was Kylo Ren this time. The costumes were similar, but everyone was masked and moving so quickly she had a hard time picking out any one person. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is that him playing that guitar?</span>
  </em>
  <span> When she heard the vocals, though, she realized that it wasn’t: it could only be Adam, which meant that someone else was on the bass guitar, not the lead— and yes, from this distance she </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>see now that the other guitar only had four strings. This was fun: almost like a puzzle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So if someone’s on bass, then Kate…</span>
  </em>
  <span> She tried to concentrate on it in her head, but couldn’t stay focused, especially not when lyrics like </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You can’t fuck with me! You can’t fuck with me! I know my fucking enemy!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> were blasting through her eardrums. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bridge hit, and the spotlights illuminated the drummer, who was hunched across his set, hands moving like an oiled machine as all the other music went silent. Rey knew this part: she had cracked and listened to a few of their albums on Spotify on the way down, and the bridge was just a short drum solo— she guessed in concert or live, this was extended into a somewhat longer and more complicated solo.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It absolutely was, she realized after a moment. The drummer bent his whole body into the music, hands and feet moving wildly as he slammed his way through every beat, not missing a single one. The crowd was losing it, chanting along to the beat, and the drummer was having fun with it, tapping lightly at his cymbal when he wanted them to quiet down, spinning his sticks to make the crowd laugh, and pretending to fall asleep as he drummed only to jerk back to attention. All of it was broadcast on a huge screen, and when the solo finally ended and the rest of the music came crashing back into the beat like a wave on the shore, the drummer returned to his regular movement and the spotlight left him, focusing on the lead guitarist, who started hamming it up across the stage, swaying, shouldering up to the bass player. Rey had to smile watching them (one was Carter, she was sure, but which one? All of them had on masks and heavy face paint) and felt a chill ripple down her leg as fire roared to life for the finale of the song, a long, drawn out electric guitar chord wailing through the speakers as the mass of people roared their approval behind her. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>After an hour of nonstop music, Rey felt like her head was going to blow off from exhaustion, and she hadn’t even been on stage. KORE had changed costumes a few times, but the crowd had started to chant for Kylo Ren, demanding to see their idol. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ren! Ren! Ren</span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <em>!”</em>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The chanting stopped when the band launched into “Room on Fire” and began to cheer and scream: this was one of KORE’s biggest hits. Rey knew this one from the radio, and began to sing along without realizing she was doing it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The war is won, the war is done: the room is on fire but our hearts beat higher… </span>
  </em>
  <span>The crowd was screaming, going nuts as the spotlight focused on the drummer again, who was slamming their heart out into the set, bare hands curled around the sticks, tendons standing out. There was blood on the set, on the sticks; a red stain that spoke of blisters and chafing, and yet they never stopped, never slowed down. The audience was bellowing, chanting again, and Rey suddenly realized two things at once— she knew who the drummer was, and why the crowd was shouting “Ren! Ren! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ren!</span>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The drummer finished a drawn out drumroll on the snare with a crash of the cymbal, and the crowd lost it, screaming, jumping to their feet as one, as he rose unsteadily, his fingers stained and dripping, and the AP guy next to Rey let out a whistle and snapped a photo as Kylo Ren raised his hands and yanked his leather mask off, exposing his signature makeup. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What’s black and white and red all over?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey thought idiotically, remembering the old riddle as Kylo stood on the stage, red fists in the air, his eyes shut as he listened to the wild crowd screaming his name. They loved this, apparently: the dramatic reveal, their star pushing himself to his absolute limits. Chest heaving below the leather jacket, sweat dripping off his body: he looked like he could barely stand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is he going to pass out?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stumbled further forward on the stage, and one of the other members shouldered up next to him and leaned in close, maybe asking a question, but whatever it was, Rey couldn’t hear it or the answer as Kylo lifted his head and opened his eyes, and looked directly at her before sinking to his knees, both fists still raised, and half-collapsing against the other person before the lights went down for intermission and the crowd erupted into applause and cheering, screaming, bellowing in the dark.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Trigger warnings for this chapter!<br/>- vomiting, description of, starting with "an empty glass bottle on its side by the bed" and ending with "No, they'll test me... Hux said... no." It's also mentioned several times throughout the rest of the chapter but not in a lot of detail.<br/>- alcohol/drug abuse mention, and a whole lot of mental health spiraling/self-esteem issues, which are topics this fic will deal with from here on out</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Is he okay?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a stupid thought to have, a beyond pointless thought: Rey didn’t even like the man, and he didn’t like her, and here she was worrying about what some millionaire star artist was doing during intermission. She gnawed on her thumbnail as the AP photographer looked through his photos, nodding to himself. At least the noise had slowed to a dull roar.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That one’s good,” she heard herself say, pointing at a photo the man had caught. It showed Kylo, both fists raised and his head bent as he staggered to center front stage, sweat gleaming on his face and soaked into his clothes. The energy coming off it was almost palpable: electric, exhausting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rolling Stone?” An interested look played across his face. “You’re the one touring with them, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Touring. </span>
  </em>
  <span>As if she was going to Tokyo. Clarification was clearly in order here. “Just to Los Angeles.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right.” His head tilted to the side as he gave her a funny look. “Jeez. Who’d your boss have to kill to get you on </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> assignment?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey grinned at him. “None of your business,” she informed him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Talking was good. Talking distracted her from thinking about Kylo Ren, which was not something she wanted to do, particularly, but here she was, unable to stop worrying about him— which was stupid! Stupid: he was a client, she had to be impartial in her judgment, in her interviews, in her thoughts—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The curtain rose, and she looked up, relieved… only to count six members of the band, not seven, and she was almost a hundred percent sure that the man in Kylo Ren’s costume and facepaint was Adam. The smoke all over the stage didn’t help her head count, but she was almost certain they’d made Adam or Trix stand in for Kylo, and that was…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nobody stands in for me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And yet the person snarling out lyrics and stomping around the stage in Kylo’s coat and red glittery gloves was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not Kylo:</span>
  </em>
  <span> they moved differently, held themselves differently. Rey fought a stab of panic: what had happened to him if they’d had to put someone else in his outfit and lie to the audience? </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The show finished an hour later, and she waited in her seat, jiggling her leg until Phasma came to collect her. “We almost forgot about you,” she said in the most bored-sounding voice Rey had ever heard. “Too much drama backstage.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Rey told her, hurrying along to keep up with her pace. “I saw there were only six band members on stage. Did something happen to Kylo Ren?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phasma shot her an icy look. “He was on stage. Didn’t you see him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t him,” said Rey definitively. “Absolutely not. He— that wasn’t him, that was Adam or someone in his clothes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The head of security suddenly whirled on her and brandished a finger in her face. “And did you share these observations of yours with anyone else in the fucking press row?” she snarled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” squeaked Rey, terrified. “No, are you kidding? They would have thought I was making up—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Phasma snapped, and took her by the arm, pulling her along. “Jesus, woman. We’re going to have to muzzle you before the shows or something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to say anything!” Rey protested, being hauled along, her glasses knocked askew and her feet almost leaving the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You better not. You’re going straight back to the hotel in the chartered van.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And the rest of the band?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>What about Kylo?</span>
  </em>
  <span> her brain seemed to wail.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’ll be going with you. Kylo Ren is already secure in his suite.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s back at the hotel? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey was scandalized. “You shipped him back to the hotel in the middle of his own concert?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Since the man insisted on playing the fucking drums for the whole setlist, got dehydrated, and gave himself heat exhaustion, yes.” Phasma looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. “We can’t take him to a hospital. Imagine how fast that would get out. It’s perfectly curable with rest, fluids, and air conditioning. And don’t even think about making a neat little note about this in your article, because it’s perfectly normal in any industry dealing with physical exertion.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won’t,” Rey muttered, and let Phasma escort her to the side door, where she waited for the chartered bus with Mitaka, who remained silent, looking at his phones the whole time.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>They got off the bus at the Dewberry to find that the crowd of fans, seemingly having decided their targets must be elsewhere, had dispersed. It wasn’t enough, though, to make Rey feel much more relieved. The band seemed quiet, but they could have been just tired. Trix in particular kept shooting looks at Rey, then at Hux when he wasn’t looking, and shaking her head very, very slightly. Rey got the message: </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t ask us about Kylo in front of Hux.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She felt like she was walking on eggshells, or maybe through one of those Indiana Jones ancient booby-trap tombs: one false step and a poisoned dart would blow out of the wall and kill her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She checked her phone as she headed down the hall to her room: it was almost eleven-thirty, and she was starving. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should have ordered takeout or something,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought dismally. Maybe there would be room service available. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I do have that money from Amilyn.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She sighed and unlocked her door, stepping in and shutting it behind her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pizza box was sitting neatly on her coffee table, with paper plates at the ready, and Rey froze: who the hell had been in her room? She came closer, suspicious, and saw the note on top, written in careful all-capital letters: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I KEEP MY PROMISES. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pizza,” she said aloud, absolutely mystified, and then remembered—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The conversation in the car. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If you don’t like it, I’ll take you to dinner, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she had said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>pizza, dear. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Did he think she’d hated the show? Not liked it? Was this an apology? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is his door open?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was only one way to find out. Rey opened the box, wolfed down a slice of pepperoni (it was still hot) and wiped her mouth with a tissue before creeping to the door that separated her room from his and unlocking it quietly, then taking a deep breath and opening it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dim golden light from the bedside lamp met her eyes, not the blank white door, and there was Kylo Ren: spread out on the sofa, bandages on his fingers, black joggers on, barefoot, looking right at her, and very, <em>very</em> shirtless. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Heat flooded Rey’s face. He’d had the door open. He’d been waiting for her. “Oh,” she stammered, looking at the carpet. “Um, I’m sorry. Is this, ah, bad time—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t even seem to register her discomfort. “Did you get the pizza?” he asked, and Rey focused more on him, noting the unfocused look in his eyes, the relaxed way his fingers curled around an ice pack, the way his head rolled to find her face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Drunk. He’s drunk. Or on something. Painkillers? Drugs? </span>
  </em>
  <span>His torso was thick from his waist, which had just a touch of softness to it, to his chest, which was broad and firm with muscle: pale and huge and expanding like a bellows as he breathed. Both nipples were a dusky rose shade— the same color as his lips, she noted with some discomfort. Why was she noticing that? Why did she care?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I just ate some,” she said quickly. “I just wanted to check in on you. Not, not as a reporter, though. I was concerned.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were concerned,” he mumbled, and shut his eyes. “Mm. They’re telling me I need to stick to vocals only for the next couple stops. Until we get to Phoenix at least. Let my fingers heal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What… happened?” she offered, tentative as she took a step into the room. “It looked like you were bleeding.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Blisters,” Kylo told her, opening one hand to let her see the bandages. “I haven’t played drums in about a…. Year. Two years? Don’t remember. Anyway, turns out I lost the callouses from that." He let out a bitter chuckle. "So the repeated motions gave me blisters, and then broke the blisters. And then, uh, sawed right through the skin under the blisters.” His head dropped forward onto his chest. “I forgot,” he said, almost to himself. “I forgot how long it had been…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why… why would you be on the drums like that after so long?” Rey asked, baffled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because I wanted to,” he said, voice suddenly biting and hard again. “Why do you care?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you going to ask me how it went?” she prompted, ignoring his sudden bitterness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I already asked everyone else. They said it was fine. I don’t fuckin’ believe them.” Glazed, whiskey-colored eyes flashed up to pin to hers, and Kylo licked his lips. “But you… you have to be honest with me, don’t you, Rey Niima? You have to be unbiased and… report the truth.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey took another step in, feeling a little emboldened by his behavior. “I guess I do,” she said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not gonna lie to me, are you?” he said softly, watching her come into his room. Something about the way he was sitting, sprawled out with his knees apart, made Rey want to… she didn’t know. “Are you, Ms. Niima?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” she told him, trying to ignore how broad his chest was, how thick his body was, how </span>
  <em>
    <span>big</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was. Tall and wide and a force of nature. A redwood tree. A brick shithouse. He wasn’t ripped like a bodybuilder, or a model, but his body spoke of thick, well-developed muscle under a healthy layer of fat that was built for brute strength and force, not aesthetic. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He could throw me into a wall. He could do anything he fucking wanted to me. And he wants— </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Apparently he wanted, right at that moment, to hear her opinion very badly— at least, judging from the way he was leaning forward, focusing on her intently. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“So</span>
  </em>
  <span>. How did you like the concert?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was extremely well done,” she said as straightforwardly as she could. “The fact that everyone pulled their shit together and passed off Adam as you while they got you out, and nobody knew? Flawless staging. The lighting was phenomenal, the pyrotechnics were beautifully timed, and I think—I got chills, actually, at the dramatic reveal that you were the drummer the whole first half of the show, and the crowd absolutely adored it. I think it was one of the best performances I’ve ever seen live.” Kylo went completely silent, staring at her. “Not that I have a lot to go off,” she hastily added, “because I haven’t been to a whole lot of concerts—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You— you </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> it,” he breathed, sounding like he’d been hit with something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’ll be fucking putty in your hands.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re a little bit, um, drunk,” Rey told him, backing up a step. “Are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Had a couple of… drinks,” he muttered, waving a hand. “And… some other shit Hux had. Just to take the edge off. My hands fuckin’ hurt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Okay. I’m going to, um, go back into my room, then—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In a single movement, he’d hauled himself up off the sofa and taken several steps toward her, his eyes huge and soft and scared as he breathed hot whiskey into her face and got right up into her space, backing her up against the wall, and… Rey didn’t hate it. Wasn’t scared. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He won’t really hurt me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she suddenly knew as she gazed up into his damp eyes. “You really thought it was good?” he whispered, looking into her face for— what? She didn’t know. Deception? For her to laugh at him again?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course I did,” she answered, before remembering she wasn’t supposed to know that he worked on the technical design. “Whoever’s in charge of the tech and stage design is brilliant.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A shadow flickered across Kylo’s face. “Yeah? He’s kind of an asshole if you ask me. Nobody can stand working with him. He drives everyone up the fucking wall.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’d say he’s worth the drama if he can produce a show like that,” Rey said softly. “I guess I can’t interview him. I’m just here for the members of the band, after all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo Ren sucked in a small, ragged breath. “Yeah? Worth it?” He blinked and shook his head, and she was surprised to see tears forming in his eyes. “Forget it. I’m... you… you go to bed. Get out of here. Bad optics if someone finds out. You know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right. Um. Good night. Sleep well.” She edged out awkwardly from the space between his chest and the wall, and headed for the door, completely at a loss as to why her heart was thudding so strangely.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The second day brought an early morning with no one up yet, a glorious sunrise that Rey barely watched, lounging in bed, her glasses pushed up her nose and her pajama top falling off her shoulders as she wrote and wrote about the concert, about the things she’d seen, about the dynamic of the band— most mostly, she found, to her own consternation, about Kylo Ren.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Halfway through a third paragraph detailing his bare chest in torrid language better suited to a terrible erotic novel than a serious journalist, she groaned and hit the backspace button. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re not some stupid girl with a crush. You’re not. What is wrong with you? He’s an asshole, he… </span>
  </em>
  <span>But was he? Come to think of it, he’d never actually hurt her, except with words, which— well, it wasn’t like she was innocent in that regard, either. He’d bought her dinner and kept his word and… she was almost sure he’d been on the verge of </span>
  <em>
    <span>tears,</span>
  </em>
  <span> real tears when he’d told her to go to bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe I should check on him. Just to see if he’s okay.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She hadn’t heard any movement from the room next door, and chewed on her lip as she set her laptop aside and got out of bed, checking the mirror to make sure her hair was at least in some semblance of order. A bun would have to settle, and she didn’t plan on going into the room, just poking her head in, so she didn’t bother to put a bra on before she went to the adjoining door and opened it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo was in nothing but navy silk boxer-briefs, spread out on his back on the huge, king-size bed with an empty glass bottle on its side by the bed… and vomit streaked down the sides of his cheeks. Rey’s eyes widened in horror as she realized what had happened— first that he had thrown up in his sleep, and secondly that he was on his back with his airway blocked for who knew how long</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she raced into the room without thinking, clambered into the bed, and yanked his heavy, deadweight form to the side, dragging him to lie on his right and clearing his throat with her fingers. His lips were slightly blue: </span>
  <em>
    <span>cyanotic,</span>
  </em>
  <span> that was the word. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she gasped, panic searing through her body as she recalled her CPR training she’d had to take for that summer lifeguarding back in college. Was he breathing? Did he have a pulse? She checked his throat, and felt a fluttering, faint beat before she started hitting him in the back as hard as she could—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo’s eyes flew open and his whole body convulsed. He gagged and threw up again, soaking her knees and half the bed in vomit, and she fought not to throw up herself at the stench: sour alcohol and bile. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” she chanted, afraid to breathe. “Hey, hey, you’re okay—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another strangled gag, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> came flooding out of his mouth. Rey squeezed her eyes shut and breathed through her mouth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t barf on him, don’t barf on him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Rey,” he croaked pitifully, screening his eyes from the sunlight with a thick, pale hand that was just this side of blue-tinged at the fingernails. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t talk, just breathe, okay?” Rey tried to think. Should she call someone? 911? An ambulance? She couldn’t think. The sunrise painted the room in shades of butter-yellow, lilac, rose: Kylo’s hands looked like marble. He was shaking, coughing violently, panting in big, gulping sobs for air as tears streaked his face. “I’m going to— I’m going to get you to the bathroom,” she informed him, and pulled on his arm ineffectively until he sat up and let her help him to the door, his legs shaking the whole way there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bathroom was all white marble, glass, light wood detailing. Rey barely saw it. She positioned Kylo in front of the toilet and went back out to the bedroom, rummaging through his clothes and finding another pair of boxer-briefs for him. She knew a fair bit about over-drinking, having been to college, and the memories came back quickly: </span>
  <em>
    <span>keep them warm, give them fluids, stay with them. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Do you need me to call someone?” she asked, stepping back into the bathroom with his clean underwear. “911?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he rasped, and threw up again, gripping the toilet bowl like it was a life preserver as his shoulders heaved. Rey ran cool water over a washcloth in the sink and pressed it to the back of his neck as the gagging eased off into ragged, hoarse coughs. “No, they’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>test</span>
  </em>
  <span> me… Hux said… </span>
  <em>
    <span>no.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They’ll test me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>So he was under the influence of way more than just booze: she’d suspected, but it was crystal-clear now. “You want a shower?” she asked, when his convulsive coughing had stopped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I can— do it myself.” Kylo staggered to his feet, a little more clear-eyed, and hooked his thumbs into the elastic band of his boxer-briefs. Rey looked away politely to give him some privacy, and didn’t look up until he had made it to the enclosed shower and shut the glass door, the hot water pouring down him and the steam fogging the glass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Great. He’s naked. If they’d told me in English class I’d be using my journalism degree to help a rockstar clean puke off himself and sitting in a bathroom waiting for him to finish showering, I would have laughed in their faces. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey flushed the toilet and sat on the lid, looking at the tasteful artwork on the walls and listening to Kylo scrub himself down. Eventually, the stench of sour stomach acid and alcohol was replaced with the fresh, clean smell of soap, and the water clicked off, leaving a roaring silence between them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Should I call someone about the bed linens?” Rey asked, still not looking at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he muttered, the glass door opening. She could hear a towel rustling. “Call, um. Mitaka. He’s the one least likely to make a scene. Go— go back to your room, okay? Leave from your door, go find Mitaka, and have him call the front to order a change of bedding for my room. Make up something if you have to. Don’t talk about why I need it, just say I do and I’m a diva who made you go get it for me. Then come back through your door.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Got it. You’ll be okay?” Rey glanced over and told herself the heat in her face was from the steam, and definitely not from the way the towel was sitting on his naked hips as he fumbled with his underwear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine,” he said, eyes flickering to meet her. “Go on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey, still in her PJ’s with a robe from her bathroom thrown over to hide the smell of puke, hurried to Mitaka’s room and knocked lightly. The door opened almost instantly, revealing Mitaka already dressed for the day, glasses on. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Does he sleep at all?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Hi, Mitaka,” she whispered. “Um, Kylo Ren sent me to tell you he needs housekeeping to change his sheets?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mitaka blinked. “Why is he sending you?” he asked curiously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. He woke me up to treat me like a freaking servant. Who can tell why he does what he does?” Rey did her best to look frustrated and sleepy, rubbing her eyes, and had a stroke of inspiration, giving Mitaka big, sad, pathetic eyes. “Just get housekeeping up there. Please. He’s being weird and went into the bathroom and won’t let anyone talk to him. I don’t want him to throw a fit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mitaka sighed. “Yes. Yes, all right. I’ll send someone immediately. Thank you, Miss Niima, and I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hurried back to her own room, shut the door, yanked the robe off, discarded it in a smelly pile, and opened their connecting door. Kylo was sitting on the floor in a bathrobe open over his boxer-briefs, knees drawn up and his elbows resting on them as he took deep breaths with his head hanging low. “Housekeeping’s on the way,” she told him. “You can bunk over in my room while they change the sheets.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In your room?” Kylo looked up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. As long as you don’t hurl on my carpet.” She walked over and extended a hand to him, but he batted it away and stood himself, still a little wobbly. “If you can stand the poor people smell.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face twisted into a sick-looking half-smile. “What are the staff going to think when I’m not in my room?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I told Mitaka you were throwing a diva tantrum in the bathroom and didn’t want to see anyone. I’m sure he’ll warn the housekeepers not to go near it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You really do think of everything,” Kylo muttered, shuffling to their connecting door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey threw her soiled robe into the middle of the muck on the bed and shut the door behind him, then the second one on her side. “Yeah, well, lucky for you,” she retorted. “Are you going to hurl again?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no answer at first, and Rey realized he was looking around her room: smaller, but nice, with a king-sized bed rumpled from her early-morning writing, her laptop still open, and her things strewn around. “I don’t think I will,” he said, sounding ragged, and rubbed his eyes. “Fuck. A whole bottle of Jameson. What was I </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinking</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I passed out at three in the morning. I have a show tonight...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, the good thing is that you probably barfed up so much booze that you won’t get alcohol poisoning,” said Rey, trying to hide her distaste. “You just need fluids. Water. A lot of water. And then sleep.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not a doctor,” he said, but there was no heat to it as he made his way over to the Fiji water bottles on her sideboard and cracked one open, gulping it down in one long breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you probably need some ibuprofen or Motrin or something,” Rey added, crossing to her bed and pulling up her laptop. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, fuck, this is the gooey paragraph about his stupid eyes!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Quickly, she slammed it shut, trying to act natural. He hadn’t seen it. Had he? No. He hadn’t. It had been shut. The laptop went to the floor as casually as possible as Rey fluffed her pillows up. “I assume you don’t, uh. Normally drink like that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Kylo answered, turning on his heel to shoot her a tight little look. “Not for—” He stumbled, unbalanced. “Jesus.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She reached him in a step and tugged him over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Sit down before you collapse. Okay. I’m not gonna ask why, if you don’t want to—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t drunk like that in about a year,” he said, like he was trying to get the words out of his mouth, like the taste was going to eat him. “I drink, obviously, but not… like that. I was trying to cut back. And then, uh. Last night…” He buried the heels of his hands in his eyes and exhaled hard. “A lot of shit just— came to a head.” A bitter laugh forced itself past his teeth. “Shit. I didn’t think I’d be in this bad of a, uh, mental— shitpile until at least Las Vegas. You’re really throwing a wrench in my shit, Niima.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey paused mid-movement. “Me? What do I have to do with any of this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You,” he said, still behind his hands, “are </span>
  <em>
    <span>stressing me out</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sorry,” said Rey, really incensed. “Sorry the mere presence of a reporter that you yourself requested to be here is stressing you out to the point of binge drinking, combining it with whatever party drugs you were doing last night, and almost dying</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I fail to see what the fuck I’m doing that could possibly construe literally any of this as my fucking fault.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not—” Kylo let an irritated, exhausted noise out from behind his hands and lowered them to look at her. His eyes were red with exhaustion. “I’ll rephrase. You are not </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything. You just </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> a source of stress. To me. Personally. That I did not anticipate when I made the call to Snoke. There.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey opened her mouth, then closed it in confusion. “Oh. Because— because I know that, that thing I know? And you know about my… thing?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo Ren’s face seemed to curtain off, to close like a stage: the lights dimmed, the secrets gone. “Yeah,” he said shortly. “The things. That’s why.” He drew his hands up over his face again and sighed deeply. “Thanks for, uh, making sure I didn’t die.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As long as you don’t pass out like that again, I won’t have to do you the favor twice,” Rey told him. “You know your lips were fucking blue?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why—” His eyes, suddenly bright again, alight with something she couldn’t place, snapped to hers as his hands dropped. “Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> you in my room in the first place?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I—” She could not blush, she absolutely could not, sitting here— but she couldn’t help it. Rey turned her back on him and pretended to mess with a glass of water, digging a bottle of Aleve out of her purse for him to hide her flaming cheeks. “I was checking on you. I hadn’t heard anything in a while.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sounded like he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>enjoying</span>
  </em>
  <span> this. “Listening at the door, were you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not at all. Why did you leave your door open?” she fired back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Red blotches rose on his cheeks. “I— forgot to close it,” he muttered, which would have been a perfectly convincing answer if he hadn’t said it with the attitude of an eight year old boy making up a story about why he </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn’t the one who had broken a priceless antique.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Although, you know. Maybe Rey would rather not go down that path at the moment. “Right,” she said crisply, handing him two pills out of her bottle. “Take these. Thank me later.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God,” he said, taking the pills and gulping them down dry. “What time is it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She checked the bedside clock. “Almost seven in the morning. What’s your showtime?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need to do anything until three. Rehearsal starts at three-thirty at the stadium, but all I’m doing tonight are lead vocals.” Kylo rubbed his eyes with his still-bandaged hands. “God, I’m tired. Up till, what, five, passing out in my own puke at six, almost dying at six-thirty. Busy morning.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> tired,” she snapped. God, all he could think about was himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “It’s not like I’ve been running all over the hotel by your request in a bathrobe with vomit all over me and haven’t even showered yet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So go shower,” he said, jerking his head at her bathroom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey froze. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But if I’m in there, and he’s out here and he goes through my stuff…</span>
  </em>
  <span> she hadn’t deleted half an essay that she absolutely had to delete. But her computer was password-protected: she’d forgotten. “Fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hot water was amazing. Rey </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> this shower, loved everything about this bathroom: it was big and luxurious and beautiful and the towels were so, so soft. She wrapped herself in one and realized she’d forgotten clean clothes in her rush to the shower. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll just poke my head out and see if he’s asleep.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was. He was curled up on his side in the exact middle of her king-size bed, his arm tucked into his chest, mouth open as his chest rose and fell gently. Rey signed in exasperation and changed into clean clothes for the day, wondering if he’d set an alarm for three PM or not. Probably not. He probably didn’t even have his phone— and then she saw the gleaming silver iPhone 11, resting on the bed half-covered by a fold of blanket.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll just double-check,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, and picked it up. It was unlocked and open to the Notes app, and out of habit she began to read. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>—fucking killing me. what’s happening to me? why does this feel like a bruise being slammed into with a thumb on purpose every time she looks at me, every time she breathes near me i want to break something, tear something apart, i feel like i could lift the whole fucking stadium on my shoulders if she asked for it</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why. why why why did i ask for this. I always ask for shit i can’t fucking take and i take it and take it to prove i can do it but she’s the one thing i can’t handle, not like this not anymore—feels like im in a hurricane and i dont know which way is up. Fuck me. I wont be able to do this, not all the way to the ocean. I dont know what im feeling. I can’t understand it. I cant ask the others if they understand it either, they wont they cant theyll tell H&amp;S… i just want it to stop fucking hurting and i dont want to do this anymore</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey realized her palms were sweating. This was intensely private, she realized after the first sentences: a diary of some kind, like her own notebook she’d tucked deeply into her bags. A stream of consciousness, a plea to empty air for help. The note itself was long, and as she hastily scrolled up she caught glimpses of more anguished fragments: </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t fucking want to be here— dying inside— i want to dig my fucking teeth into— im already dead, the rest is just waiting— im trying to scream and nobody cares, nobody can hear me— i just want— alone— </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’d seen enough. Rey checked to make sure his alarm was set and tucked the phone back where it had been before covering him with a blanket and retreating to her chair in the corner, opening her laptop and beginning to write.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>trigger warnings for this chapter!<br/>-passing mentions of sexual assault from "Suspicion coiled in her gut, made even worse by Kylo’s sudden aversion to eye contact." to the end of the chapter. <br/>-the last line break scene contains Kylo masturbating and spiraling into some darker self-hatred, with passing mentions of drug abuse and alcohol abuse and sexual assault.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It didn’t feel right to use Kylo's private thoughts against him, or even to think about the words, whoever they were about, so Rey didn’t do that. Instead, she began a totally different second essay, combining all the weird shady stuff she’d seen over the past few days with a few Wikipedia pages, to begin a very messy outline on J. Snoke, the chief executive officer of First Order Management.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had taken over said records executive position almost thirty years ago after the old chief records executive of Empire Records had retired— or died, it was unclear, really— and from what Rey could gather, it looked like Empire Records, that great media conglomerate, was the actual distributor of all of the music KORE played, performed and wrote, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> who First Order Management directly worked for, handling their stars. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So Snoke is a link to Empire Records,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, writing frantically, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and  controls them both, and sends people to supervise everything that KORE is doing, all the time. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her memory flashed back to something Kylo had said— what was it he had been saying about groupies? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Distractions are not encouraged. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And yet, somehow, she felt that his choice of words was more deliberate than just the chance of a sexually transmitted infection. Was it a personal choice on his part? Or was it, perhaps, in a contract somewhere in a lawyer’s office in LA or New York?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re chasing a dead end,” she said aloud to herself with a sigh, and realized it was almost noon. Kylo had slept for a solid five hours while she’d been sitting here, muttering to herself and typing. Rey stood up and stretched, enjoying the release in her aching back, and picked up her room phone. She might as well get him some lunch, or something for herself: she’d never eaten breakfast and she was starving.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stirred as she was quietly finishing up the lunch order and lifted his head, blinking at her with a surly, sleepy expression. “What… time’s it?” he slurred.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Noon,” she informed him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Headache,” he croaked, and squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in the pillow. Rey really, really fought to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>I told you so.</span>
  </em>
  <span> At least he wasn’t vomiting everywhere. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I ordered food. I hope Hux gets charged for it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A muffled, weak laugh floated out of the bedding. “He will be. Don’t worry about that. ‘M going back t’sleep.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re not. You need to eat something solid with carbs and protein, and then you have practice.” Rey marched over and pulled her covers off his body, making him swear under his breath as he rolled stubbornly to his side, away from her. “Get up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he grunted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey sighed. “Get </span>
  <em>
    <span>up</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or I’ll start— I’ll start singing Hold My Hand. Remix version. Exclusive private concert, one on one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo Ren let out a dry, hacking laugh. “Go on, then,” he muttered. “Do your worst.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Well, he’d called her bluff. Rey cleared her throat and tried to tamp down the shame of the past ten years as she started to sing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I gotta get up as soon as I see you’ve called, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I think I fell in love, took no time at all. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh baby, baby, can’t you see what I see?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh honey, honey, what have you done to me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do you want to hold my ha-a-a-nd?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh baby tell me yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do you want to hold my hand? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You want to hold my hand?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo had raised his head from the pillow and turned to look at her as she sang. Slightly bewildered by the expression on his face, she hesitated, letting her voice falter and die. “You don’t have to stop,” he said hoarsely, blinking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I do. You’re up.” She avoided his stare as she sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the window and not at him. “And the food will be getting here any minute now. I hope you like big greasy sandwiches.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat up, the bed shifting under his weight. “You have a good voice,” he told her. “Really good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey snorted. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not.” There was some heat to that, and Rey stopped herself in her tracks: he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>serious?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You’re good. You have great pitch and a good vocal tone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” she said, taken aback. There was a knock on the door, and she took advantage of the distraction to go answer it and take the room service tray in herself, hastily setting it on her coffee table. Kylo rose out of the bed and stumbled to the sofa, drawn by the smells of food. “Don’t hork it all down at once. You’ll hurl again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He mumbled indistinctly and gulped down the fruit-infused water they’d brought up in a glass pitcher, then started slowly working on the crepes and the carafe of coffee. Rey sat down and started in on the fruit and half the roast beef sandwich, watching him pace himself as he methodically chewed and swallowed his food. “I want you backstage for tonight’s show,” he said without looking at her, gulping down his coffee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Backstage?” she repeated, at a loss. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. You can interview whoever you want back there. Victor or Umar, whoever you haven’t gotten to yet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Thanks.” Rey sipped her water. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Trix mentioned you were a good interviewer. I thought you might want closer access.” He flushed a little, ducking his head, and suddenly Rey—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew.</span>
  </em>
  <span> All that anguish pouring out of his private notes, all that stuff about his feelings and how he couldn’t do this anymore, the connected rooms, the look on Trix’s face when she had demanded Rey say nothing about the burner phones on the buses: </span>
  <em>
    <span>she thought Trix was a man and that we were in a relationship </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the fury on his face and in his voice when Rey had joked about Trix liking Adam…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s fucking in love with Trix. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She felt sucker-punched, shocked, like the world had stopped spinning on its axis and was about to fling her off into space. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve stumbled across the star-crossed love story of the decade. Holy shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was almost unreal as the pieces began to click into place, and she made an excuse about going to the bathroom just so she could sit on the toilet lid and write out notes as frantically as they came to mind. Of course he’d been upset at her joke about Adam and Trix: if they weren’t allowed to be together due to the contract terms— like how he didn’t or couldn’t sleep with groupies— and of course they wouldn’t be allowed to date each other, it would lead to resentment inside the band and fights and maybe the whole thing would collapse— so she’d obviusly hit a sore spot on accident. And maybe it was unreciprocated, since he’d said Trix was pretty uninterested in men— and why would a guy notice, or care about that, if he wasn’t interested in her to begin with?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey finished writing and came out to find an empty hotel room, her food mostly eaten, and the connecting door to Kylo’s room shut tight.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The interview that night before the show was with Victor, and she spent a remarkably entertaining half an hour with the man: he was a lot more open than Trix was. He eagerly regaled her with stories of an old biker gang, alluded to military experience, made her laugh telling a story about the time he tried to steal a penguin from the zoo in Central Park, and went on a very earnest and long speech about how much he hated “fuckin’ skinhead KKK motherfuckers”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She left his dressing room laughing, more at ease and comfortable than she’d been in days, and had stepped into the hall to come face to face with Adam, who tried to awkwardly sidestep her, then laughed about it as they couldn’t manage to go opposite ways. “Sorry!” Rey exclaimed, pressing herself flat against the wall as Adam chuckled. God, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> good-looking: all cheekbones and flawless skin and gorgeous hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nah, it’s fine,” he told her, grinning a perfect, straight white smile as he stepped past her. “It’s like dancing, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just like dancing,” Rey told him, and watched him walk off back to his own dressing room before turning and walking past Kylo Ren’s door, which she had to pass on her way to the backstage area— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hand flashed out and gripped her wrist, and she was pulled physically back into the shadow of the door as a broad form blocked her escape. She knew who it was instantly by the smell: leather, smoke, sweat. “Where are you going?” Kylo Ren growled, deep in his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Backstage,” she said firmly. “Did you think you were going to scare me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His grip tightened subtly on her upper arm. “Did you tell Hux about last night?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook her slightly, shoving her back up a little. “Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>lie</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not!</span>
  </em>
  <span> I didn’t tell anyone. Did he find out?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” he confessed, eyes searching hers frantically. His fingers were shaking. “I just, I— I keep thinking he knows. He knows, he always knows every fucking thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s not going to find out anything from me,” she told him. “I’m here for you and for KORE, not for your manager’s henchman’s washed up pasty ass.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That made him chuckle, and he let go of her arms. “Yeah? Good. Keep it that way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was gone before she could even ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>why did you leave without saying goodbye?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The show was not quite as frenetic as the previous night’s had been, or maybe it just didn’t seem like it was from her vantage point, but Kylo did a great job on the vocals, and Rey, from backstage, got to see every costume change and the whirlwind that went into managing a show this size smoothly. Kate broke a lace on one of her platform boots and it was replaced in record speed, Carter dropped a mic and got a new one in no time, and someone had a massive cooler of water ready at all times for the band between songs— probably making up for the last show, when Kylo had given himself heat exhaustion. The Spectrum Center was taking no risks tonight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the show ended, she even got to sit in silently and watch the fans who had won or bought backstage passes come into the green room. Surprisingly, it was Umar who was the most outgoing with fans: masked in makeup and leather, he cracked jokes, wrapped his arms around swooning women (and men) and gladly took selfies while Hux oversaw everything from the corner. Rey noted down that Trix and Kate didn’t speak (probably because their voices would be a dead giveaway as to their identities) but that Adam was very welcoming to fans, even when they got a little overzealous. Kylo kept his distance, but nodded at them, and after the last person had departed, squealing in joy over meeting her idols, everyone relaxed as one, a collective breath being let out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank fuck that’s over,” said Kate, voice gravelly as she yanked the heavy mask off. “Last one to the shuttle’s a rotten egg.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Change of plans,” said Hux, looking at his phone. “Go in groups of three. Victor, Adam, and Kate— you three go first, then Umar, Trix, and Carter can go second. Miss Niima will ride with the rest of us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I— I’m sorry,” said Rey uncomfortably as Victor and Kate headed out with Adam close behind. “I have to find a bathroom, and this place is like a maze.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s one down the hall,” said Phasma on her way out to escort. “Have one of the stagehands show you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, send Mitaka with her,” said Hux sharply, rounding on her, and something unspoken passed between them before Phasma nodded and waved a hand. Hux turned back and smiled at Rey. “Wouldn’t want you to get lost.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” she agreed, feeling a little weird about the expression on his face. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mitaka took her down the hall to the restroom, preoccupied with his phones, which meant she was able to get in, pee, wash her hands, and fix her hair without any questions or interruptions before stepping back out. He had disappeared. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Probably wandered off while updating someone’s Instagram account, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, and started to make her way back to the green room. The hall was dimly lit and very quiet except for the faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights, which was why, when she neared the cracked-open door to the green room, she was able to hear Hux and Kylo Ren speaking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And don’t think for a second,” Hux was saying in a very controlled tone, “I don’t know what you’re up to. She isn’t going to get you out of anything, least of all your contract.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Kylo Ren in a smooth, low voice. Intrigued, Rey paused in her step, listening. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t play that game,” snapped Hux. “Do you think I’m blind? You know I can tell Snoke anything I want to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s a great way to lose his trust,” Kylo responded, sounding bored. “If you’re going to threaten me, threaten me. She’s a fucking journalist and I don’t need you hounding her everywhere when I asked for her to have access to us. She’s trying to do her job.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait. What?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey froze: they were talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, as if that’s the only reason you want her around,” sneered Hux. “Demanding she switch rooms to be closer to you, trying to get clever, trying to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span> with her. Look me in the eyes, Ren, and tell me you’re not somehow obsessed with that mousy little—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo barked a laugh. It didn’t sound nice. Rey tried to swallow. “What? Are you out of your fucking mind? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jesus Christ. Who do you think I am?” Well. Rey had known he probably didn’t like her that much, but— maybe— no, it wouldn’t be a good idea to ruminate. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stay professional. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Are you really that fucking obsessed about what we’re all doing on tour with four hours of sleep, Hux?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hux sounded irate. “Oh, and I’m supposed to believe that Mitaka just made up a story about her knocking on his door at six in the morning almost in tears because you were demanding she get your sheets changed? What the hell does she have to do with your bedding?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo snorted. “You think I fucked her, didn’t you? No, don’t give me that look. You honest to God think I fucked her and then made her go change the sheets? At six in the morning? After I passed out from fucking heat exhaustion? On a show day? What exactly is the narrative you’re going to try to sell to Snoke, here? I’m curious to know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a spluttering sound of consternation. “Fine!” Hux snapped. “Fine. I don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’re up to, but rest assured I will get to the bottom of it and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>minute</span>
  </em>
  <span> I find any evidence you’re dabbling in even bending the contract, she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine by me,” shot back Kylo. “Paranoid fucker. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey had heard enough. She ran back down the hall silently, took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and shouted as loudly as she could, “Mitaka? Hello? Where’s the green room? Hello?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door down the hall opened, and Hux, looking disgusted, caught sight of her as she hurried toward him. “Don’t tell me he just left you in the toilet,” he said as she made it to the door. “I’ve got to get that man in line.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know where he went,” she said honestly as she slipped into the room, painfully aware of Kylo’s eyes fixed on her. “Are we leaving soon?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. You’ll ride in the shuttle with us. Let’s go.” Hux shot Kylo a narrow-eyed, calculating look from the door as he stood. “In fact, I’ll escort you there myself. I think we’ve been a bit neglectful, haven’t we, Kylo? A shame. You’re our guest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo’s face was as much of a mask as his leather one was. “Sure,” he said, sounding indifferent as he crossed the room without looking at Rey once. Rey didn’t know what to say, not even when Hux smiled politely at her, held out his arm like a gentleman, and held the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They went out to the parking lot, Kylo Ren following right on their tail with Mitaka, who had suddenly appeared from the halls with an apology, and to the car. Hux was all gracious smiles and polite jokes, but Rey felt wildly on edge: she’d heard that conversation, and she knew he was doing this to get at Kylo, but for what reason? To prove a point? To— and here was a panic-inducing thought— make him jealous? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jealous. Why would he be jealous? He’s got a thing for Trix, right?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Except she couldn’t exactly remember on top of trying to field this new and unexpected atmosphere, and Hux’s eyes were so pleasantly soft and calm, and he was asking her to watch her step, and they were getting in the shuttle. He helped her in, and slid alongside next to her so that she was snugly between the window and Hux’s hip, and Kylo Ren got into the seat behind them. Rey could almost feel him breathing down her neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So how did you enjoy the concert, Miss Niima?” asked Hux as the shuttle began to pull away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um. I liked it,” she said. “Or, you know, what of it I saw. But I thought the backstage view was still pretty interesting.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you? Excellent. I hope you witnessed how quickly we can handle… problems arising,” he said carefully, still smiling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey wasn’t stupid: she heard the double meaning. “I did. I would hate to be a broken heel backstage.” She shot him a smile, and his green eyes narrowed, sizing her reaction up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You could never be such an irritant,” said Hux, apparently deciding to go for the flattery angle. Rey let herself smile pleasantly at him. “Ah, you have a bit of fuzz in your hair. May I?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Uh, sure,” she said, blinking as his fingers gently separated strands of her hair, plucking out the piece of lint. Behind her, Kylo was absolutely silent. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My pleasure.” Hux smiled and sat back. “If you need anything at all, Miss Niima, you have only to ask.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she said hesitantly, and looked out the window all the way back to the Dewberry, resolutely not looking behind her seat at the silent and brooding shape of Kylo Ren.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hux’s behavior didn’t stop, not even when they got up to their hallway. Kylo walked past to head to his own room, and Hux stopped Rey by his door, smiling disarmingly. </span>
  <span>“I don’t suppose you’d like to come in?” he offered. Rey saw Kylo’s broad back suddenly stop in the middle of the hallway, his fists curled into solid pale blocks, all straining tendons and blood-stained band-aids.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do less. “I— thank you, but—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Hux urged, his voice a little softer. “I can give you all sorts of juicy tidbits for that article of yours. Don’t you want to know all about the inner workings of the company?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m here to report on the band itself, Mr. Hux,” said Rey thinly, still trying to smile, to dodge him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You could not pay me to go into that hotel room. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her skin was crawling. “But thanks for your offer.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” said Hux, and dropped his arms, stepping back and smiling at her. “But should you change your mind…” He shrugged, and Rey waved him off with an awkward smile before turning around to face the hall and hurry to her room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo was gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey had just shut the door of her own room, listening to the blessed, safe click of the lock, when a pair of huge hands grabbed her from behind and manhandled her to the wall (</span>
  <em>
    <span>really? How many times is this going to happen?)</span>
  </em>
  <span> while a voice deeper than the ocean snarled, “Did he fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>touch you?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” she gasped, staring up into Kylo’s face, washed clean of makeup. “Why the hell are you in my—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You be honest with me,” he panted, inches from her face. “Be fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>honest</span>
  </em>
  <span> with me, did he—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why the fuck do you care?</span>
  </em>
  <span> she wanted to shout, but God… the frantic energy he was giving off, the way he was looking at her, the way his fingers were shaking. “Kylo,” she whispered, and his eyes snapped directly to hers, as if she’d jerked his attention forward on a leash. “I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t let him— don’t say </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>—” He was still wound up tight as a spring, his hands still trembling on her arms. “Fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t trust him, don’t go near him. That bastard, that fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>bastard, </span>
  </em>
  <span>touching you, I wanted, I wanted to punch his fucking teeth in—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I heard you,” she managed, face heating up. “I heard you behind the door, when you were talking, and I— I’m not playing these games with you, or him, or anyone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo looked like he had been punched in the stomach. “No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Rey— that wasn’t, I had— </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He whirled around, releasing her, and paced frantically, hands buried in his hair. When he spoke again, he sounded like he might cry, his voice gone thick and strangled. “I have to lie to him. All the time. All of us do. We’re all walking the edge of a knife between glory and nothing. Don’t you understand that yet?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I figured you had to— I thought—” Rey tried to collect her fluttering thoughts. “I thought you… had a thing for Trix,” she croaked, knowing even as she spoke the words how silly they sounded. “So I, I thought that was the point of the phones, and the, the secrecy—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Trix?</span>
  </em>
  <span><em>”</em> Kylo stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her. “Are you serious? You thought I was, what? Pining after Trix? A woman who’s like my sister? My very gay </span>
  <em>
    <span>sister</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey tried to avoid his eyes. “It, I, I clearly was wrong—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In a blink, he had her caged in with his arms again, the wall to her back. “Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>what I would have done if I had found out Hux had fucked you?” he growled. It sent a chill down Rey’s spine, that tone, that heat in his voice— or maybe it was the viscerally unpleasant idea of coming anywhere near Hux. “Do you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” she managed, fighting the sudden weakness in her knees as his closeness washed over her. He hadn’t showered yet: he still smelled like pyrotechnic smoke and gunpowder, sweat and salt. “Tell me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I would have fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>killed him</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he snarled, leaning even closer. The muscles under his skin were twitching, flexing: he was gritting his teeth as he stared into her face. “I couldn’t— </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> do you have any idea what he’s trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So tell me,” she urged, unable to do anything but stand there against the wall as he looked down at her. “Let me help—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t help us. You can’t help me. You couldn’t, you’re just one person, this is so much bigger than you or me or—” He exhaled sharply, gusting hot air across her throat, and shook his head sharply. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have said anything, I shouldn’t have even come in here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do I need to go ask Hux what the issue is?” she demanded, knowing that would press into a sore spot but not much caring at this point: she wanted answers. “Because I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>get to the bottom of this if I have to, even if—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Kylo barked, eyes gone wild. “No, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no,</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t, shit. Shit.” He hedged her in closer, his body almost pressed against hers, but not quite, like he was afraid to touch her. “He’s done this before,” he muttered, soft and quiet. “Fucking… dangled what we can’t have in front of us. Like a toy. Like bait. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Look what I can do that you can’t.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s… psychological, is what Kate says. He does it a lot. With different shit. To keep us in our place. He’s trying to get into my head because he, he thinks—” The pale, thick throat bobbed as he swallowed. “He thinks I’m… that I have a thing for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He thinks…” Rey gulped. Her own throat felt suddenly dry as a bone. “He thinks you, you— but, but that’s not, you don’t—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo tersely shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What I want doesn't matter. It’s what he thinks that matters, and when he gets an idea into his head he won’t let it fucking go. He obsesses over it. We’re the same, like that…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t quite breathe. Her skin was prickling from the closeness, from the panic, from the exhilaration: </span>
  <em>
    <span>holy shit, this can’t be happening. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“So if I went, went to him right now,” she stammered, unable to look him in the eyes as he stared at her, “if I, if I went in there and he told me everything, or if he did something to me and I, I came back, you would—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A low, black groan spilled out of his throat as he wedged himself closer and gripped the back of her neck, his forehead almost pressed to hers. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he gasped. “Fuck, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m sick of being offered his fucking, fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>leftovers</span>
  </em>
  <span> like a dog. Shit.” His breath drifted across her cheek, and she fought against the irrational trembling in her belly, the heat slipping down and pooling between her thighs: </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is fucked up, fucked up, I shouldn’t—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been… offered people before?” she whispered, trying to keep her voice calm, even while his was breaking and shaking apart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Kylo said, voice cracking. “Taunting me. Bastard. All of us. Mostly me. He likes to fucking… needle me. And if you… if he did that to you and did it to me again, I’d, I’d—” He sucked in a breath. “He touched you, your </span>
  <em>
    <span>hair.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was a half-moan, a desperate fury as his hands slipped up, just barely: his thick fingers just pressing against the strands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hated it,” she confessed, her walls dissolving, overwhelmed by this man, this man who was so close he could have been kissing her but wasn’t: this man who was cradling her like he was afraid she might break. “Hated it, didn’t want him to touch me, didn't want to go into his stupid hotel room—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill him,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” moaned Kylo, and suddenly he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> kissing her, just like that, and she was pressing herself into him, backed up against the wall, and her hands were planted on his huge, warm chest. His mouth was softer than it looked, and for the briefest moment she felt him yield, giving and open and warm under her lips— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god,” she gasped between kisses, clinging to his massive back. “God, I fucking—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo Ren yanked his head away and pushed her off him. “No,” he stammered, scarlet up to his ears. “Shit, shit. No, don’t. I can’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I—” Rey blinked as he stepped away, bewildered and hurt, and even more embarrassed: had she misread him? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, god, I kissed an interviewee. Fuck. Unprofessional, unprofessional. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, I thought, I thought—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t, none, none of us can have relationships,” he blurted out. “It’s in the contract we signed when we started—</span>
  <em>
    <span>shit, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I just broke the fucking NDA, didn’t I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You—” Rey gaped, shocked. “Wait, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span> That’s insane. Snoke can’t make you— he can’t—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He can do anything he wants. He has an army of lawyers and they’re very loose-fingered with notices and letters and reprimands.” Kylo stepped back further, passing a hand over his forehead. “I”m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean, relationships? Like friends, or, or like—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like girlfriends, boyfriends, partners. The contract applies for ten years. I’ve been under it for six years. The rest of them have been bound to it for five so far. No exclusive anything allowed. Happy?” He looked sullen, humiliated, like saying it out loud was the worst thing he’d ever had to do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey couldn’t wrap her head around it for a moment. “You haven’t done— you haven’t had sex in six years?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A single finger rose up, like he was a professor making a point. “Correction. It’s been twelve years since I fucked anyone of my own goddamn free will. The others, about six years, yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Twelve years?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Rey didn't know what to focus on first.“Wait, so that’s why Hux is taunting you? What the fuck is his problem?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You tell me,” Kylo said, looking tired. “Power trip. Psychopath. Asshole. Who the fuck knows. Can you blame me for getting shitfaced all the time now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So— I’m so sorry, but I’m morbidly curious now— the terms of the actual contract, they’re… when it says a relationship, it means, like, casual dating or marriage or—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed. “Everything. He’s— I think Snoke doesn’t want us getting attached to anyone outside of FOM or the band. You know. Breakup situation, Trix might get a girlfriend and decide she wants to strike out, or Adam brings someone to the bus that Carter goes nuts over. I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Sounds really— saying it out loud makes it sound stupid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And… if you break the contract?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes flashed up to hers, some indefinable emotion written there. “We’ll be dropped instantly from First Order Management and Empire Records. We’ll be sued to within an inch of our lives, and we’ll never work again in the industry because Empire is a conglomerate and they’ll make sure every other music company knows that we don’t stick to contract agreements and that we’re difficult to work with.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey tried to collect herself. “Oh. I see.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not even— not supposed to talk about the terms. It technically violates the NDA I signed when I signed the contract.” Kylo looked uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to say anything in the article. I swear.” Rey grasped the collar of her bathrobe a little tighter. “And… I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> judging, but Hux… he has drugs. A lot of them. In that suitcase. Doesn’t he?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” said Kylo tightly, not looking at her as if he was ashamed. “Some are party shit, some are prescription. Snoke knows.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” said Rey, appalled. “It’s like when MGM was feeding amphetamines to Judy Garland. And what did you mean when you said your own free will? Is someone—” Suspicion coiled in her gut, made even worse by Kylo’s sudden aversion to eye contact. <em>M</em></span>
  <em>
    <span>y own goddamn free will.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Wait. Kylo. Are you guys being—is someone making you have sex with them?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His fists were tight, his arms corded lines of muscle. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, sounding as brittle as untempered glass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey shook her head, horrified. “This is— but this breaks so many laws, I know it does. If I could get my hands on legal counsel for you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t matter. He’s the law. Only law that matters, anyway.” Kylo scrubbed his face with his hands. “I shouldn’t have said anything to you. I’m sorry. Shit. Just go to bed. We have to get up and get on the road by seven.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But I want to help,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want to help you, all of you, and you… </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Okay,” she replied, stepping back. “But… shower, okay? And I’m borrowing your robe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grunted slightly to acknowledge he’d heard her, and Rey left his bathroom, hurrying back out to their connecting door, and shutting it snugly behind her as water in the bathroom started to run.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo sat naked on the floor of his enclosed shower. The water was never going to run cold: it was coming from industrial water heaters and not a house tank. He could sit here for a year and it would never go cold. The thought was dizzyingly unbearable for some reason he couldn’t pin down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Rey. Rey. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His mind whirled in a frantic kaleidoscope of pieces and bits: her hair on his fingers, soft and warm: her mouth on his as he’d kissed her, pressed against her into the wall. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What is happening to me?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He couldn’t breathe, not really, not with water pouring down his face, so he hung his head forward and sucked in wet gasps, trying to center himself and focus. He’d never wanted anyone like this. Not in a million years. And now...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wanted to beg her, crawling back to her room, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please, do something, help me:</span>
  </em>
  <span> but she couldn’t help him— she wasn’t a lawyer or a consultant and if he lost First Order Management he would lose everything, everything he had gotten by sacrificing so much. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sunk cost fallacy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That was the term, wasn’t it? </span>
  <em>
    <span>A greater attempt to continue an endeavor once a certain amount of time and money has been spent in pursuit of it… </span>
  </em>
  <span>yes, he had lost everything to get this, to get what he had thought five years ago were something he was owed, something he deserved because of his family, his talent. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And now… I’m trapped.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to think about that anymore. He wanted… Kylo tipped his head back to plunk against the wall of the shower, closing his eyes and calling up the image of Rey, open-mouthed and firm and warm, blushing against the wall... </span>
  <em>
    <span>her nipples would be pink, pink like her mouth, her cheeks, and she has freckles. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His dick stirred to life, a familiar sensation normally brought on by Pornhub and late nights alone in hotel rooms and occasionally Viagra fed to him before parties he hated and tried to block out. He muffled a moan as heat flooded his body, his blood draining south, leaving him slightly lightheaded in the heat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I could… I could just fucking do it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought desperately, bringing his hand down to wrap around his cock. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just knock on the fucking door, she kissed me, didn’t she? She’d let me do it, she’d like it, they’d never know, we wouldn’t have to... I’d make sure she liked it… </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He swallowed another noise as his hand began to move up and down, delivering friction to his cock and sending jolts of pleasure rippling through his pelvis and up his spine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’d call me Ben, I could ask her to… </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he could almost see her now, a dream, a fantasy: she would be damp and naked from a shower and spread her legs for him. Her mouth had been soft. Her body had been soft to touch where it wasn’t lean and firm, so if he held her nude in his arms, she must be soft, too. He wondered briefly if she’d have pubic hair or not, and decided he didn’t care one way or the other— so, he’d crawl on top of her and tell her </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s you, it’s always been you, I need you like air</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she’d cling to his back and he’d kiss her tits, and finally slip his cock into her—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The water was too slippery. He couldn’t get enough friction. With an annoyed grunt, Kylo lurched up onto his knees and out of the direct stream of the water, and that was better: the drier skin tugged and slipped over his cock, and his hand made a perfectly satisfactory substitute for Rey— or, he guessed, he wouldn’t know— and in a moment he was thinking about her mouth and her soft pretty eyes and he was lost, his belly and hips going tense as his climax rocketed through him, chills raising the skin on his arms as he choked through the aftershocks, ropes of come splattering his thighs, his hand, his arm, the floor of the shower. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rey. Rey. Rey.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fantasy receded, and there was only Kylo, nude and soaking wet in the steam with his limbs shaking a little and his breath gone ragged as his penis went soft and sensitive between his legs, sticking to his thigh. “Shit,” he muttered, letting his head hang down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jacking off over a reporter. Just what I needed to do.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And yet his head felt clearer, less rattled and empty and filled with dread now— he could make a habit out of this. Maybe. Probably a less damaging habit than binge drinking or Valium or cocaine any of the other shit he did, anyway. It wasn't like she could ever actually want him. He was fucked up and dirty, a puppet on a string dancing around for people to do whatever they wanted to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo weighed his options on the floor of the shower while his breathing returned to normal. Option A: don’t let Hux near Rey, not even for a second. Likely to end in utter professional failure and an abysmal dressing-down from Snoke, while giving him great temporary personal satisfaction. Option B: pretend everything was fine, grin and bear it, and watch Rey walk away at the end of the road, while he…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll still be trapped, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought in despair as he got to his feet and washed himself clean again. Trapped, and under a spotlight with all the money he could want, controlled by his superiors, as opposed to free, broke, and a nobody. What was more important, freedom or fame? He couldn’t parse that one out. And Rey… Rey had gotten to choose. She’d chosen freedom, and he resented her for making a choice he didn’t... yet now she had no choice but to be pulled into his path, destroyed in his wake like everything else he touched—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo covered his face with his hands and tried to breathe. No. He wouldn’t touch her, he couldn’t ruin her and get her dirty like he was. She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>good,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she wanted to help them… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No,</span>
  </em>
  <span> said Snoke in his memory, cruel and firm and setting down boundaries Kylo knew he couldn’t cross. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, the mass media is out to destroy you, Kylo. They’ll rip your throat out as soon as they’ll adore you. All they want is a story. Leave them to me, and don’t trust the press. I’ll protect you. All of you. Just do as I ask. Is that so unreasonable?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” said Kylo aloud, voice breaking as his eyes burned with tears. The two options rattled through his skull like pebbles in a glass jar, and he turned off the water and stood shivering in the cool air of the bathroom as the night dragged on.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. VI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>trigger warnings for this one!<br/>- drug use mention peppered throughout! consider this a blanket TW for the rest of the fic, please.<br/>- there is a scene where someone under the influence of drugs goads someone into willingly giving them oral sex. if you consider this dubcon because of the drugs, stop reading at "shut me up, then" and start again at "you can stop", but consider this a blanket warning that drug use will be involved in a lot of intimate scenes from here on out! <br/>-the next chapter will be the one that warrants the sexual assault tags, just a heads up, and I will warn for it in the notes!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next day brought a pale sunrise as Rey climbed aboard the bus containing Kylo, Carter, and Adam, who handed her a coffee and offered a bright grin as she climbed up and set her stuff down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank you,” she said, smiling as he nodded at her and moved toward the sofas. She sipped it: a vanilla latte, slightly sweeter than she liked, but by no means undrinkable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Figured you’d need a pick-me-up,” he said, fiddling with his phone. “It’s six in the morning, and we have a long way to go before we hit Atlanta.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are we still doing Orlando?” she asked, sipping her coffee. “And then Dallas, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but before you ask, no, we are not going to Disney World,” Carter informed her, rising up from their position on the sofa, red-eyed and tired-looking. “No time, and it’s not safe enough.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Rey was slightly put out: if nothing else, she would have liked to go to Disney on someone else’s dime, even if she got nothing else out of this trip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be disappointed,” said Kylo, hauling himself up the steps of the bus and looking as if he’d been through the wringer. Dark shadows lurked under his eyes, and stubble was gathering on his chin and upper lip, making his already sullen face even angrier-looking. “It’s a fucking concrete nightmare that’s a billion degrees every day staffed by underpaid college students and retirees and populated by screaming children, angry exhausted parents, and thirty year olds who still think Disney is the end-all, be-all of their childhoods because they didn’t do anything besides watch cartoons as kids.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Way to get heavy before seven AM, Kylo,” said Adam, sighing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey frowned at him. “I like rollercoasters.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo sagged into a seat directly opposite her. “They’re broken half the time. You might as well throw a thousand dollars into a lake and then stand in a parking lot on a hundred degree day for three hours. There’s your Disney magic experience. Happiest place on earth.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Rey mumbled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carter snorted. “I don’t think he knows which side is the right side.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Adam chuckled, which made Rey grin, and this seemed to incense Kylo. “I’m going to sleep,” he barked, jerking forward off the sofa, but not before he dug into his pocket and came up with a plastic bag of blue pills. Rey’s smile slid off her face and she averted her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, man. Not in front of the reporter—” Carter started, sounding exhausted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you and fuck her,” Kylo spat, and threw three of them into his mouth, crunching them dry between his teeth. “She’s a grown fucking woman and she can handle it.” He headed to the bedroom with all the grace of a hurricane, slamming the door shut behind him and leaving them all in an awkward silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>They drove down the interstate while Rey sat on the sofa and scribbled down notes about the drive, but she was running dry, and the coffee was wearing off. It had been hours. She yawned and set her laptop aside, stretching, and looked around to see that Adam was asleep, laid out on the other sofa, and Carter was reclined in the armchair, mouth open, clearly out like a light. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, I have to use the bathroom. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She got up and made her way to the toilet. Maybe she could pop in for a pee without waking up anyone: they were all clearly exhausted, and she did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to know what drugs they might be using or abusing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Rey reached the door to the bathroom, she touched the doorknob to open it, and the bedroom door, six inches away, flew open, making her jump and almost shriek in surprise before a massive arm and hand attached to it shot out, grabbed her, covered her mouth, and dragged her through the door like she weighed nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She got her footing and whirled to glare at Kylo, who was giving her an equally furious look. “What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you sneaking around?” he snarled, suspicion written all over his long, angry face. “Looking for more dirt on us?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gaped. “No! Jesus! I had to pee! And why aren’t you asleep? Three Valium would knock out a grown man for hours.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughed sourly. “Not me.” Abruptly, his mood changed, and he yanked her closer by the upper arm, breathing almost into her face. “You better tell me the truth, Ms. Niima.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She set her jaw and glared at him. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Let go of me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh-uh,” Kylo chided, eyes narrowed. He was still sleep-rumpled and warm, pupils dilated, five o’clock shadow darkening his chin and lip, and she… actually didn’t mind that much that he was clutching her whole arm in one huge hand, his thumb and fingers touching around her bicep. “You have to... promise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s got to be high. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Okay. I promise. I have to pee, and I was being quiet so I didn’t wake you or anyone else up. There’s the truth. That’s what you want from me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo paused, searching her face. “Mm,” he grunted, and pulled her closer, body pressed along hers. “I changed my mind. I want something else, and I think you do, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Heat rushed her body, and Rey just knew her face was burning. “I don’t want anything from you, you— you— you spoiled, stuck up, </span>
  <em>
    <span>entitled</span>
  </em>
  <span>, overgrown— </span>
  <em>
    <span>child</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A slow, vicious smile spread across his face. “Weird. That wasn’t what it sounded like last night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How dare he throw that back into her face. Rey gaped, livid. “You absolute bastard.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell me again, but slower,” he fired back, still grinning. “You know, I think you like this, Ms. Niima.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I— I—” She couldn’t think of a single thing to say at all, and settled for reaching up with her free hand, gripping him by the back of his neck, and pulling him down for the angriest kiss she’d ever given anyone. Her mouth slipped across his, hot and wet, and he made a low, rough noise in his throat as he backed her up into the wall, his hands gripping her shoulders. “Asshole,” she panted as his mouth left hers, her hands scrambling to get under his shirt. “I know why you’re so goddamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrible; </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s ‘cause you haven’t in, in twelve years you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” he gasped, breaking away for a second. “You, you gonna fix me up, Niima?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that a challenge?” she asked, brain unraveling into mush at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought</span>
  </em>
  <span>— quickly scraped back together by her logical mind: </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s probably not okay to— </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Because I think this isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> the time to—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, blow me,” he snarled, irritated. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, sure thing,” she said instantly, and took great pleasure in watching the expression on his face change from annoyance to full-blown shock, quickly masked with practiced ease.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re fucking with me,” Kylo decided after a long moment, staring at her face as a sullen anger settled in over his expression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I am, am I?” she snapped, incensed: who did this guy think she was? “You’re the one who said it, you big fucking asshole— do you want it or not?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>up,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he snarled into her face, suddenly way too close, too big, too volatile: a roiling ball of energy and raw nerves. “Don’t you fucking talk like that to me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you fucking tell </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> how to talk,” Rey hissed right back, and a muscle rippled under his jaw, tight and hard. “It’s my fucking mouth, and I’ll do whatever I want with it, and before you crack some stupid fucking joke, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes,</span>
  </em>
  <span> that includes whatever dirty shit I want.” She reached down and gripped the tie to his sweatpants, and he froze solid, eyes huge as he stared at her. “So are you going to start being polite, or do I have to shut you up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both eyes flickered over her face, searching her out. Kylo’s tongue flicked out and traced his own plush bottom lip, his throat bobbing. “Shut me up, then,” he said, in a voice so unlike his ordinary one that Rey blinked in surprise. He continued, getting bolder, goading her on. “Do it. You talk some shit for someone who acts like she’s barely kissed anyone bef—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>up</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she spat, heated, and pushed him back to the bed, where he sprawled out, knees apart, resting back on his elbows and watching Rey as she crouched between his calves and tugged down his sweats. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo wasn’t wearing underwear. That was maybe not a huge surprise, but Rey tried to look as if she did this all the time— truth be told, she’d only done this twice before, and wasn’t a pro at it, but maybe he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. His dick was already full and very hard, pointing directly at the ceiling, and as she leaned forward to inspect him, his pale hands gripped the bedcovers tightly, bunching up the fabric: the only part of his body that moved at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey was reminded of nature documentaries where prey would freeze so as not to be seen when being hunted by predators. She had the good sense not to mention it, though. “Huh,” she said lightly, tracing the length of him with the back of her knuckle. “Thought you’d be bigger.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m, I’m seven and a half fucking inches,” he said, sounding strangled and indignant at the same time. Rey’s finger traced the slick head, flushed the same color as his bitten lips, and Kylo squirmed beneath her, shuddering. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he choked. “Niima—” </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“I said </span><em><span>shut</span></em> <em><span>up,</span></em><span>” Rey ordered, and yanked her hair back out of her face as she sat back. </span><em><span>I can’t believe I’m doing this. </span></em><span>His cock was broad and pale, like his body. A thick vein stood out along the underside, mirroring the one pulsing in his forehead as he stared at her from above, his mouth slack and open as she put her hands on his bare thighs. They were warm, hard as stone, and dusted with sparse dark hair. “If you facefuck me,” she warned, glaring up at him, “I will bite your fucking cock off.”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yes, okay,” Kylo said, shaking a little as her mouth lowered to him. “Can I, can I t-touch, hold your hair—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Rey snapped, just to watch his face twist into anger as he was denied what he wanted before she licked her hand and grabbed his cock, slipping her fist from tip to base and back up. His expression turned from anger to open-mouthed shock, and his hands flexed into fists in the covers again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, fuck, R— </span>
  <em>
    <span>Niima,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you fucking—oh, shit, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ni-i-ima</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She brought her head down, taking as much of him into her mouth as she could, and heard all the breath leave Kylo’s lungs in a harsh, gravelly huff. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought viciously, his cock almost touching the back of her throat as she worked away at him with her tongue, with her lips, with her hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good, see how you like me now, you bastard. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He was making choked-off little sounds, like he was trying to stop himself from crying out, and it only spurred her on. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, I can make you scream, I bet,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, swirling around the broad head with her tongue. He smelled like tobacco, like vanilla, and tasted faintly salty, and she hummed to herself as she worked, making him shudder, but nothing seemed to be… accelerating. Was she doing it wrong?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he mumbled after a minute or two, his hands still locked into the bedspread. “Stop. You c-can stop.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She lifted her head away, letting him pop out of her mouth, and worked her sore jaw. “What?” she asked, confused. What had she done wrong?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t. Finish.” His cheeks had turned an ugly shade of crimson, his eyes looking everywhere but at her. “I can’t. The Valium.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” She wiped the back of her mouth with her hand, feeling as if the wind had all gone out of her sails. “That’s—okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not fucking okay,” Kylo growled, jerking forward so fast that she fell on her ass backward, startled at his sudden change of mood, but all he did was yank his pants back up in a clumsy movement, his hands trembling. “It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He slammed his palm down into the bed in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thwump</span>
  </em>
  <span> of noise. “Shit </span>
  <em>
    <span>goddammit!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” she said quickly, unsure of where the outburst was coming from. “I’m not mad, I underst—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell</span>
  </em>
  <span> me you understand,” Kylo snapped, looking directly at her with loathing poisoning every line of his face. Was it for himself, or for her? “Fucking—</span>
  <em>
    <span> don’t.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Come here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She went to him, and he dragged her ungracefully into his lap, seizing the back of her head and kissing her furiously: his teeth nipped at her mouth, his tongue shoved its way across hers, his hands were hard enough to bruise. As for Rey, she gave as good as she got, which meant that when they finally broke apart, Kylo’s mouth was swollen and wet. He looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>used</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he was still hard under the beck of her thigh. She couldn’t deny that it gave her a deep, awful thrill: she </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, wanted him like nothing she’d ever wanted before and it was terrifying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But... he had tears in his eyes, and he wouldn’t look at her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What am I doing?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey swallowed and scrambled off him, trying to stop the panic boiling in her stomach. “We can’t, we can’t do this,” she stammered. “God, what was I thinking—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Kylo agreed, looking suddenly guilty, horribly guilty. “No, we, we shouldn’t have… done that. Any of that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bus bumped gently, and Rey turned to look at the door: what if they’d woken up the others? What if someone had </span>
  <em>
    <span>heard</span>
  </em>
  <span> them? “You’re not going to tell anyone?” she asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said, in the blackest voice she’d ever heard. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And you’re not either.” It was final and cold as a star’s death: a voice that brooked no argument.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey covered her face. She still had to use the bathroom, and combined with the burning arousal that painted everything from belly to knees in bright, nerve-tingling </span>
  <em>
    <span>want,</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was a very uncomfortable and confusing sensation. “I, I— I have to go,” she said, and edged toward the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo did not make a move to stop her.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>When night fell, they were still on the road, and Rey was preparing to sleep in the stacked bunks by the bathroom with Carter and Adam, who had both climbed up already and passed out. She changed, showered in the bus’s bathroom, and brushed her teeth (dinner had been drive-through at a truck stop) and was just pulling the curtain aside when the bedroom door, which had not opened almost all day, cracked open. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can… sleep in here on the bed if you want to,” said Kylo’s dour, flat voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She paused, heat prickling up her spine. “Oh. You… you want the bunk, then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t answer for just long enough to make it uncomfortable before stepping out, the broad bulk of him taking up most of the hallway as he edged past her. His eyes were hazy with exhaustion, and Rey wondered what he’d been doing in there, if not sleeping. She could smell him: laundry detergent. A faint hint of tobacco-vanilla cologne or bodywash. “Sure,” he said, and tugged the curtain open before climbing into the little bunk and yanking it shut again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, that was that. Rey slipped into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. He’d left the over-the-bed light on, illuminating the little room in a dim, ambient glow, and she noticed he’d made the bed up, and a piece of paper was resting on the pillow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey picked it up and turned it over. He had written in careful block print: </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A secret between them, then: delicious and sweet, tiny and fragile like a grain of sugar on her tongue. She folded the note in half and tucked it into her sock before climbing up on the wide, soft bed and nestling in for the night, and boy, was this better than the bunk: enough room to spread out, no claustrophobia—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She frowned, eyes shut, as she tried to drift off. Kylo was roughly the size of a mountain, so he couldn’t possibly be comfortable in that bunk, which was only six feet long, she knew, and three wide. He would have to sleep on his side diagonally, crammed in there like a body in a coffin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before she could lose her nerve, she darted out of bed and opened the door, easing his curtain aside and revealing a disgruntled-looking Kylo, hoodie already pulled up: did he just sleep in clothes all the time? “What?” he whispered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re huge. You can’t be comfy in here,” she whispered back, trying not to wake up the others. “Come on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinked, both eyes squinting up at her. “I can handle it,” he muttered stubbornly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I want you to be comfortable, because if you’re grouchy tomorrow we’re all going to be miserable, so get your ass up,” she said in a slightly more normal tone of voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, are you planning to wake up the whole fucking bus? Fine.” He slid out and unfolded like a huge paper plane before stalking into the bedroom, barely even looking at her before she came in behind him and shut the door. He jumped, startled, and turned to look at her, his eyes about bugging out of his head. “What are you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re sharing the bed,” Rey said, crossing her arms. “Did you think I was going to shove back into that bunk? It sucks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo gaped for a moment. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Just</span>
  </em>
  <span> sharing the bed,” he clarified, giving her an odd look. “Nothing else.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing else,” she confirmed. “Are you really going to wear all that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked down at himself as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing: gray sweatpants, a black hoodie, bare feet that looked pale and huge against the floor. “Yes,” he said, glancing back up at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Suit yourself,” she said, and crawled into the bed while trying not to look at him, or look as if she was trying not to look at him. Kylo got in on the other side after a moment, and the whole bed sank down on his side about five inches. “And hit the light,” Rey added as an afterthought. He grunted in answer and flicked it off, leaving them in near-darkness. Neither of them moved for a moment before the bed bounced slightly as Kylo moved closer, and she could feel him shivering. “Are you cold?” she whispered. He didn’t answer. Rey rolled over and felt for his hands, and to her shock, they were like ice. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m f-fine,” he said shortly, quiet and soft in the dark. His voice sounded as if he was trying his best to hide the shivering. “Coming down off uppers. Sometimes gives me chills.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought you took Valium,” she whispered, frowning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was earlier.” Kylo sounded irritated. “If it’s a fucking problem, I c-can go back to the bunk—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s fine,” said Rey firmly, and pulled herself in closer, tucking her body along his. He was stiff, as if unsure of what she was doing, but relaxed by increments as she made no move to reach into his pants, and with a small sigh of resignation, Kylo tucked himself in closer and draped one broad arm across her waist, shivering a little against her body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Warm,” he mumbled, and sighed again. “Hey. Niima. Don’t be a harsh judge. Article.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not judging. I have to be impartial, remember? Even if I did blow you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a small huff that could have been the ghost of a laugh, and after that, Kylo went silent, his chest rising and falling as his breath came in long, even waves. Rey listened to him breathe for a long time, her thoughts flying around outside her head, birdlike.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What am I getting myself into?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next morning, as they pulled into Orlando, she woke alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo was already sitting in the dining area with the other two eating a protein bar, and he studiously avoided her as she joined the table: he must have gotten up before anyone else to sneak out of the bedroom. Rey felt like her body was on fire as she joined them after getting dressed for the day.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Don't get caught. Don't get found out. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Really, though, what was a lousy blowjob between two people who maybe didn't hate each other as much as they thought they did?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, god. What if I did it against his will? What if I really fucked up?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey focused on eating the bar Carter gave her, but couldn't stop her heart from pounding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Rey, you okay?" asked Adam, looking concerned. "Running a fever? You look kinda sweaty."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm fine," she said, trying to smile. "Kinda have an upset stomach. No big deal. I'm sure it'll go away."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It better," said Carter. "We have the whole Amway Center for three nights. And I absolutely plan to sneak off and hit up some of the clubs. Did you know Orlando has, like, the best gay nightclubs in the South?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Um, no," said Rey honestly. "I just knew about the, um, the one that got attacked by that guy. The Pulse."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carter pressed their lips together. "Yeah. But there's Southern Nights, and the Savoy, and Hamburger Mary's. Do you like drag shows? Oh, my god, you have to come with me and Kate and Victor."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, this is a group plan?" said Rey, laughing. "I don't wanna, you know, drag along like a fourth wheel."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Please tell me that was a drag pun," Carter said, grinning. "Come on. You'd love it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hux isn't going to let you," said Kylo, and Rey almost recoiled at the tone his voice took. "If you get caught doing anything, you know he's going to make it out to Snoke like you were doing something against the agenda for the stop." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carter seemed to visibly shrink, the smile sliding off their face. "Yeah," they  mumbled. "You're probably right." And Rey hated that: hated that nobody could even have fun on their own time without being reminded of the ever-looming contract. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want to help, I want to help!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's okay," she told them, looking out the window. "We can all find something else to do. What else is there to do in Orlando besides Disney and clubs?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Shopping," Adam said, scrolling through his phone. "Gatorland. Natural sights, museums. What do you like?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey pondered that for a moment. "I don't know anything about fashion," she confessed. "Shopping would be pointless."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, come on," said Carter. "You know something about fashion." They indicated her outfit: linen joggers, a white tank top, and a brown, oversized flannel shirt she'd found at a Goodwill, rolled up to the elbows, then craned their neck to look at Adam's phone. "Let's go to the Florida Mall—no, the Mall at Millenia, it's newer. And there's pretty good restaurants around. I promise you'll like something."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, fine," Rey said, laughing. "But I have a budget."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No, you don't," said Kylo sharply, and Carter gave him a look Rey could not pin down. Kylo seemed to grasp it, though, and finally made eye contact with her. "I mean it's on us. The shopping and all that shit. Whatever.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh," said Rey, uncomfortably breaking the eye contact, which was unblinking and intense. "Um. Thanks?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"My God," said Carter lightly. "Adam, write this down for the history books. Kylo's offering to do something </span>
  <em>
    <span>considerate</span>
  </em>
  <span> for someone."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo's face went purple with rage. "Fuck. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Off</span>
  </em>
  <span>." He didn't wait for a response, just jerked out of the seat he was in and stormed back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Orlando was hot and humid as shit, and Rey was glad when the first night's concert was over at the Amway Center and they could all pile into the van and drive to their hotel: the Grand Bohemian, sitting like some kind of white Art Deco monolith on an intersection in the heart of downtown. Rey dragged her luggage into her room and showered, then threw on the coolest outfit she had: white shorts, a blousy cotton top, and sandals. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carter and Victor were waiting for her in the hallway with Adam and Kate in tow, all dressed in the most unobtrusive clothes possible: T-shirts, jeans, sneakers. “All </span>
  <em>
    <span>right,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Kate said, grinning. “Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Down the hall, a door opened, and Rey’s heart just about jumped into her throat as Kylo stalked down the hall at them. “We’re good,” he said shortly, not looking at Rey as he addressed Carter. “Don’t screw this up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re getting an Uber,” Carter said, practically dragging Kate by the elbow with excitement. “Oh, my god, I’ve needed new sunglasses since March. Thank you, Kylo.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey didn’t look at Kylo as he fell into step beside her in the group, or as they stood on the curb outside waiting for their ride. They crammed into the SUV that arrived for them, driven by a friendly man named Lamar, and she had to crawl into the back seat and almost sit on Kylo to make them all fit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kate, just as bubbly as Carter, talked their ears off about the shoes she had seen on Instagram, and Victor hinted at getting Umar a late birthday present. Rey couldn’t focus on any of it. Her left ass cheek was plopped right in the center of Kylo’s crotch, and Adam was crushed right up against her other side, making her unable to move. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t get a boner in the car, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she prayed silently. She chanced a look at Kylo, but he was staring out the window, seemingly completely unaware of the woman sitting in his lap. The only testament to his struggle was the large, solid, pale fist clenched into a ball on his left knee, so tight his knuckles were turning white. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They hit a speedbump as they merged onto I-4, and Rey bounced, almost hitting her head on the ceiling as Lamar apologized and offered everyone water and snacks. Beneath Rey’s ass, something was quickly swelling into a hard mass, and she suddenly could not stop thinking about his dick.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey hadn’t even had time to really, like, appreciate it, so she focused on staring at the back of Carter’s head and trying to remember. Wide and pale and solid as he was, flushed a healthy pinky-rose at the tip. She hadn’t been able to tell if he was circumcised or not, but she didn’t remember seeing a scar. And the </span>
  <em>
    <span>size</span>
  </em>
  <span> of him, really: he’d hardly fit into her mouth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What would that thing feel like inside me? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey shifted in his lap, uncomfortably turned on, and he must have been having similar thoughts, because he stiffened and gulped, his throat bobbing as she rubbed against him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m basically dry-humping a man in the back of a fucking SUV surrounded by his coworkers. Oh, my god. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you scoot a little more?” Adam asked, digging around in Kate’s bag for something. “Sorry, Kylo.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Rey said in the most normal voice she could, and moved herself fully into Kylo’s lap so Adam could set the bag on the seat and go through it for whatever he was looking for— a granola bar, it turned out, or Rey thought, but she couldn’t focus at all because Kylo’s dick was trapped between her ass and his abdomen. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t look at him. Don’t move. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” said Kylo in a very strained voice. He coughed. “Fine. She’s not heavy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, my head’s about to hit the roof,” Rey said lightly. Adam laughed and apologized and moved the bag, and Rey slid back slightly off Kylo’s lap so that she was half-straddling his right thigh again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo’s thumb brushed her bare thigh. It felt like fire, and Rey could not breathe. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s touching me. They’re gonna know. They’re gonna all know. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Had he done it on purpose? She had no idea. Kate was chattering about the Lush Cosmetics place, and Rey smiled along, talking about patchouli and spices and whatever as Kylo Ren’s dick jabbed into her ass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They hit another bump, and he let out the tiniest sound she’d ever heard. Rey hadn’t though he was capable of making a sound that quiet, and his left hand tightened on her thigh momentarily. It was shaking, and as Adam leaned forward to ask a question, turning his head away, Kylo let out a soft gasp, sucking in air like he was dying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey turned her head, screening her face with her hair. “Are you okay?” she hissed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said through his teeth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want me to move?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said again, harsher, and really, there was nowhere for her to go, so she sat there until the Uber pulled into the parking lot of the Mall at Millennia and they all tumbled out one by one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo was the last one, and Rey caught him surreptitiously adjusting himself through the pockets of his charcoal-colored joggers. He saw her looking and color burst across his pale cheeks as he shoved his way past her toward the glass doors. “Let’s go,” he barked, and Rey followed along with Kate on one side and Carter on the other.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The mall was absolutely huge. Kate demanded a stop at Tiffany’s and Co., where Rey awkwardly stood by a display of crystal decanters while she oohed and aahed over bracelets that cost more than Rey’s rent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All the good stuff is really on the second floor,” said Carter as they all looked at a map. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good stuff?” Rey said, shocked. “There’s a Williams Sonoma here. Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> how much a mixer costs from there? Or Pottery Barn?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Adam pressed his lips together. “We have a lot of money,” he said softly, lowering his voice and leaning in a little. Rey felt heat flood her cheeks: she felt poor and weird all over again, and she hadn't meant to put a damper on their mood, but seriously: the <em>money.</em></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Right,” she said, trying to smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo turned his head, and she could tell he was looking at her, but chose to ignore him. She didn’t need him sneering at her money situation. Carter sidled over to her. “Okay, but remember, it’s on </span>
  <em>
    <span>us,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” they reminded her, smiling. “So don’t even worry. Like, you could not even make a dent in our accounts. I promise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t ask you to buy anything for me,” said Rey, slightly panicked. "Really. I can't, I know you said, but it's not really good journalism ethics, and..."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo finally interjected. “I’m going to the Breitling store. The Starbucks is right around the corner. Do you have some ethical objection to me paying for a coffee?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey forced herself to close her mouth. “No,” she said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good. Let’s go. Kate, we’ll meet you at the Lush.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their stop at the Breitling store was quick: Kylo walked in, looked at the watches, picked out something called a Premier BO1 Chronograph 42, and paid eighty-five hundred dollars for it with a heavy black American Express card that he shoved back into his wallet like it was nothing before heading back out. “Okay. Coffee.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was almost nine thousand dollars,” Rey said, bewildered at the sheer excess as she trailed along with him to the Starbucks. “That watch could have paid for my fucking rent for four months.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I needed a new one,” he said, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world, before he handed her his card. “Here. Get a coffee, whatever you want. I’ll have an Americano with room for cream.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t buy a coffee at Starbucks with a fucking black card!” She could feel her face heating up again in outrage at the very idea. “Don’t you carry cash?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, no,” he said. “Just use it. It’s fine. Nobody’s gonna know it’s not yours.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My name isn’t—” she peered at the bottom, reading the name printed there in raised silver letters. “B.C. Solo.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure it is,” he said, faint humor glimmering around the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Brittany C. Solo. Or Brianna. Or any B name. You’re dressed exactly like a real rich person, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit,” Rey said. “I’m wearing clothes I bought on a sale rack.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And Steve Jobs wore that black turtleneck, and Mark Zuckerberg wears the same fucking T-shirt and jeans every day. Real money doesn’t scream branding at you.” Kylo gave her a nudge in the direction of the Starbucks. “Go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She went. She went on shaking knees, sure she’d be arrested for fraud, but managed to look the cashier in the eye and speak evenly as she ordered a cafe mocha for herself and an Americano for Kylo, then a chocolate croissant, just because she could. It was slightly dizzying, having that much money on hand for the taking, but she made herself do it and came back out to the tables, where Kylo was lounging with his knees open, watching her as she sat down. “Here’s your stupid coffee,” she said, putting it on the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A croissant?” he asked, watching her take it out of the paper bag. “Getting a little loose-fingered with my money, aren’t you, Niima?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey almost choked on her cafe mocha and handed him back his card. “That is not a good enough reason for you to use the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>fingered</span>
  </em>
  <span> in front of me,” she informed him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughed. “My mistake.” Then, he leaned in, lowering his voice. “I mean, I knew you were definitely hiding something. I guess it’s just a dirty mind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Says the guy who almost came in his pants on the drive over,” she shot back, and watched him turn beet-red to the end of his nose. “What? No smart comment?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off,” he mumbled, gulping at his coffee. “Come on. We have to meet Kate. I think she wants to get shampoo or something. And then up to the second floor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shopping,” she informed him, “is exhausting.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s better if you have someone with you. And when a certain red-headed asshole isn’t breathing down your throat.” Kylo stretched out and sighed. “Good thing we stole those uppers out of his bag, though. Would have never made it out here without that suitcase of his, one way or the other.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey flinched and looked down at her coffee. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Right. Drugs. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She’d been almost able to forget that whole part, sitting here having a halfway friendly conversation with Kylo. “So when you said we were all good, you meant… you didn’t give him a cover story?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I gave him some of his own shit. Maybe.” Kylo took another swallow of coffee. “Little dose of Ativan. All of them. Phasma’s smart, but I don’t think she thinks we’re capable of playing a reverse Uno card on them. Anyway, they’ll sleep all night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How the hell did you get close enough to drug Hux without him knowing?” demanded Rey. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo’s face seemed to shutter down for a moment as he collected himself. “He likes… groveling,” he said, as if he was very far away. “Likes it when we get all weepy and let him think he’s got the power. You know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please, sir, let me get that for you, make you a drink, </span>
  </em>
  <span>whatever. So I did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For— for a shopping trip?” Rey said, flabbergasted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For—” Kylo hesitated, his eyes searching her face, and swallowed. “Band morale,” he finished. “We have to all be working together, on each other’s sides and shit like that. Don’t worry about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If he finds out—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He probably will. It’s a risk we’re willing to take.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Risk? What would he do?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo’s jaw worked as he shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everything has a fucking price, Niima,” he said softly. “Everything. Especially in this business, with these people. They want their pound of flesh, they’ll get it.” Kylo finished his coffee and tossed it into the garbage. “Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Lush haul resulted in shampoo bars, conditioners, and a couple of bath bombs that Kate insisted on bringing back to Trix so they could test them in the hotel tubs. After that, they all went up to the second floor, where Rey became half-paralyzed looking at stores where a single scarf or purse cost a month’s worth of groceries for her, so Kylo steered her off into the Neiman Marcus department store instead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not allowed to look at a price tag,” he informed her as he marched her into the women’s section. “Pick one thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One thing,” said Rey, feeling hideously extravagant. “But what if it’s too—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s no such thing as too expensive. Pick something you like. You said you didn’t have a fashion sense.” He crossed his arms and glared at the sales associates coming to help, who scurried off instantly. “I have time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Anything?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey gazed around, trying to get her bearings. When had fashionable clothes become so loud and garish and weird? Her eyes lit on something familiar and simple: a plain white shirtdress with a tie around the waist, short sleeves, and a longer skirt, linen by the touch of it. “This one,” she said, turning to Kylo.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He picked it out of her hands and checked the size. “You’re a small?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think so. Um. size four? Is that a small?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Okay.” He headed for the register, and Rey scrambled to follow. “You’re not even gonna look at the—are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>crazy?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
  <span>Kylo ignored her and she waited in silence as he bought the dress for her at the register. “I cannot believe you,” she seethed as he took the bag and thanked the clerk, jamming the receipt into his pocket. “I don’t even know, I don’t know what it cost!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, but I do. And you’re gonna have to get used to the fact that I know things you don’t have to know, Niima, especially on this trip.” Kylo’s eyes had gone distant again, and he handed her the bag as they left the store. “Take it. Enjoy it. But don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey felt like her stomach had flipped over inside her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But I have to ask and know, that’s my job, I’m a reporter,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she wanted to yell. The protests died inside her, though, as Kylo froze in his stride, gripping her by the wrist to stop her and then dropping her like a hot coal. “What?” she whispered, and looked up in shock to see Carter, Kate, and Adam standing in front of the Prada store, along with Victor, joined by another head of gingery-red hair, and—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hux. Fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey felt panic stab through her throat and she tensed as Kylo spread his hand out along her lower back and kept them walking. “Don’t say a word,” he breathed as they got closer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” said Hux, swiveling to follow Carter’s miserable line of sight toward them. Satisfaction spread out along his face at Kylo’s expression. “Thought you’d get the drop on me, Ren?” he hissed so quietly that only Rey and Kylo could hear. “Snoke’s not going to be happy. What was this, some kind of bonding exercise?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We were just going shopping,” said Carter, sounding stricken. “It doesn’t mess with the agenda—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to crash,” Hux spat, “because you’re all sky-high on uppers, and I’m going to have to feed you more tomorrow to get you on stage after the tremendous shit you’re going to experience in about…” he checked his watch, “an hour. So. Whose bright idea was this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>None of them spoke. Rey couldn’t breathe. She knew it had been Carter’s idea, but from the expression they wore, she could tell something horrible was waiting as a punishment, and thought of Kylo’s words: </span>
  <em>
    <span>my own free will, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the implications, and she couldn’t let Carter take the blame: she couldn’t. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You can’t touch me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought defiantly toward Hux, and steeled herself. “Mine,” she said, and the stricken look on Carter’s face turned to shock. Kylo’s grip on her blouse tightened, his fingers digging into her skin in warning. She ignored it. “It was my idea. I wanted to go to Disney and thought this might be the next best thing. I wasn’t going to write about it. I just wanted to have some fun.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fun,” said Hux in a very slow, pensive tone, as if he was tasting the word. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fun. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He stepped towards her, and Kylo stiffened behind her. Rey’s skin crawled at those cold green eyes, but she refused to back down, and met his stare with hers. “I ought to call your boss, Miss Niima,” he said softly. “How very unprofessional.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s off hours,” she said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well," said Hux. He glanced up to meet Kylo’s eyes, and whatever passed between the two men, Rey did not see. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps we all ought to have some more </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The atmosphere in the group felt thin and sucked away all of a sudden. Adam visibly shuddered, and Kate turned ashen. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey wanted to shout. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What does he mean? What did I do? What’s happening?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Okay,” she said instead, frozen in place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All in good time. Don’t worry. I’m sure it will be very edifying and entertaining, and we’re overdue for a party anyway,” said Hux, smiling, and she did not like that smile, not one bit. “Let’s go to the car. Quietly, if you please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nobody spoke on the way to the gleaming black van. Nobody said a word in the car, and Rey, stuck between Kate and Carter in the back seat, stared at the back of Hux’s head as if she could force him to explain himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carter’s fingers, long and calloused and warm, curled around hers for a moment. They squeezed, and she looked over in surprise. They were crying silently, tears dripping down their cheeks. Rey squeezed their fingers back firmly, confused but wanting to help, and Carter held her hand for a moment, then extricated themselves and looked out the window for the rest of the drive back to the hotel.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey opened the bag on her white-quilted bed with the teal velvet-upholstered headboard, safely away in her room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dress was Rag &amp; Bone, and it had cost exactly $493.45 with the sales tax. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. VII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>-trigger warnings for this WHOLE chapter for sexual assault, rape, and non consensual drug use discussed throughout.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You’ll get a firsthand look at the green room,” said Hux pleasantly, escorting Rey into the labyrinth of concrete that made up the backstage area of the AAC in Dallas, Texas. It was intermission time, and it was sweltering, and Rey could feel sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades as she stepped into the cooler room indicated. “We have some exclusive meet and greets planned, and I know you’d like to take some notes on that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To be honest, Rey really had nothing else left to take notes about: she’d seen the concerts from start to finish for almost two weeks now. She knew every detail about what went into the staging, lighting, sound, and design, and as time had gone on, the bizarre night in Orlando had faded into more of a strange, unsettling dream. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” she said, forcing herself to smile as she sat down on a folding chair. Her thighs stuck to the metal. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I shouldn’t have worn shorts, but it’s so hot. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hux had been acting strange, too: the whole morning he’d tried to edge up alongside her, asked her polite questions, and smiled at her… but the smile never reached his eyes, not really, and she hadn’t missed Kylo’s clenched fists and taut jaw as he watched from a distance. Kylo hadn’t really engaged with her either— and neither had the band, not really, apart from necessary communication.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Hux nodded, as if this was totally normal, and right on cue KORE came in from the hall, reeking of leather and sweat. Rey could pick them out by the way they walked and gestured, now, and Kate looked almost dead on her feet as she plodded up to the couch and collapsed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo Ren took up the rear. He was wearing a new face paint design— half black and half white with his lips painted red, the red extending out to just past the corners of his mouth. “This better be fast,” he snapped at Hux, all pretense of civility thrown to the wayside as he stormed past the photographers who were setting up, ready for the photo ops. Then his eyes fell on Rey, and mute horror crossed his face, followed by resignation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wait, what? Why was he— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It will be.” Hux motioned to Phasma, who sighed and opened the opposite doors as soon as everyone was situated, and then—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>People walked in. They weren’t fans, they were just </span>
  <em>
    <span>people,</span>
  </em>
  <span> people in suits and workwear, jeans and T-shirts, and Rey noticed as they filed in and sat, chatting, that all of them had an air about them as if this was something they were expecting, or used to. She shrank back, unnerved, and someone started playing music from a speaker: calm, classical, cellos strained out into the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What… is this?” she ventured, baffled, to Hux.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just some fun. Snoke’s request.” Hux was watching with a cold stare that was absolutely not in any way remotely wholesome, and she suddenly realized: </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the other shoe dropping, right here in this room. “He likes a little excitement. Likes to set his toys on edge a bit. You’d know that if you’d decided to spend any time with </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> at all, Miss Niima.” With that, he pulled out his briefcase and let her see the contents: rows of orange bottles, organized with surgical precision; bags, boxes, ziplocs full of powders, pills she didn’t recognize, paraphernalia. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey turned her attention back to the band, and blinked in shock as one of the people pulled out a bag of white powder and dumped it out on the table, tidying it into a line with the edge of his ID, bending over, and snorting it. “That’s, that’s—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just some cocaine. What? I thought you wanted more fun.” Hux shrugged, not even looking at her, and Rey suddenly felt like a hook had yanked her out of her body by her navel, like this wasn’t actually happening and she was watching from very far away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sixteen, I’m sixteen and the producer, what was his stupid name, Plum? Pluck? He pulled me into that room and tried to get me to—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cocaine. On the glass table. It burned, it burned so badly and his hands held me down and I was—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have to go,” she gasped, staggering to her feet. Some woman in a business suit picked up a bottle from the briefcase, opened Adam’s leather coat, exposing an obscene amount of skin, and he didn’t even stop her, just let her push him down to the sofa and put something from the bottle into his mouth with a resigned expression. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hux apparently mistook her expression for alarm at the proceedings and not what it was: an exponentially increasing panic attack. “Absolutely not, Miss Niima. I insist. Stay and enjoy yourself for once. We have so much to experiment with, don’t we?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey couldn’t breathe. It was too hot. Too close. And memories, memories she’d forgotten she had were flowing back into her brain too fast to string together into a series of events: </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay and have some more, Rae, I insist. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her feet slapping into the cheap carpet as her blood raced through her veins, blood dripping from her burning nose, a bellow chasing her down the hall: </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’ll never be a fucking star, never—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A fever dream. A nightmare. She crumpled to the carpet and just focused on breathing: </span>
  <em>
    <span>this will pass, it’ll pass, it can’t last forever. </span>
  </em>
  <span> All she could hear was grunting, snorting, coughing, gasping, the slap of flesh on flesh, and that goddamn cello music over all. Everything seemed to be rapidly devolving. She had no idea how much time had passed by the time she raised her head, but it must have only been moments, because the cameras were still steadily clicking and she was seeing—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trix flopped over on her back, a drowsy loathing in her eyes as she watched a man doing something between her legs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carter, strung out on something and lying on the floor half-naked with someone on top of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Victor and Umar, curled into each other like they couldn’t see anything else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Adam, sprawled out on the sofa, half-naked, mask off, pupils huge as someone— </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kate, half passed out with her hands over her face as a man—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No. Rey couldn’t be seeing this, </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> be seeing this. This was horrible, something she was not supposed to see. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have to get out of here.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She staggered for the door, but not before seeing Kylo, half-dressed, being hung onto by three different people with their hands down his pants or on his body and seemingly vibrating with energy, focus on her— get up off his sofa and start to walk—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” she said to Hux, pleading and desperate for a last-minute protest. “No, no, you can’t, you can’t drug them, do this—” Any reason, any at all would do. “It’s intermission, how are they going to—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t have a fit, Miss Niima. We’ll take care of them. They’re used to it by now. Uppers for the downers, downers for the uppers. Good as new. Nobody can tell the difference.” Hux waved a hand, and she saw to her horror that he was putting something in his mouth with the other, then dragging a smiling woman down onto his lap. “What, no stomach for the ugly truth? Did you think management was all contracts and paperwork?” A lazy, predatory grin spread across his face, along with a dreamy expression. “Come now. You don’t want to join in? No fun at all, are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey bent double and vomited on the carpet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck,” said the woman on Hux’s lap with alarm, “she’s sick, get her out of here—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take care of her,” said Hux, and the other woman must have been pushed away, because Hux held Rey’s head until she stopped, then dragged her up to his lap. Rey couldn’t struggle anymore: she went docile and small and terrified, perched on his thighs as his hands began to creep up her belly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Monster, monster, he’s a monster but I can, I can handle this. I can do it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A plan began to work itself out in her racing mind as Hux turned to his suitcase and popped open a bottle, eyeing her up and nodding to himself as he fished out a pill cutter and broke whatever it was in half: mentally, she’d already skipped past whatever horrible thing he was about to give to her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’ll do whatever he wants, I don’t care, but then— I’ll, I’ll let him think he won and I’ll find a way to—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took her jaw by the hand and opened her mouth, and she let him put something on her tongue, something that tasted bitter and awful, and he closed her mouth and held her nose, forcing her to swallow it. Rey coughed. “I knew you’d come round eventually,” Hux purred, releasing her nose. “Now, don’t worry. You’ve got about twenty minutes, I’ll wager, considering your size, for it to kick in.” His thumb traced her lower lip. “And then we’re going to have some </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Miss Niima.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No,</span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, panicking somewhere very small inside. No, there was no plan here, not anymore. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, no, get me out of here, someone help me, I can’t move—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cameras were still snapping, and she vaguely realized, somewhere very far away, that this was all intended to be blackmail: part of the contract. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We are walking the edge of a knife between glory and nothing. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pair of enormous hands gripped her around the ribcage and yanked her physically up off Hux, who stared up in amazement. Rey’s feet barely touched the floor, dangling above him, as whoever was gripping her snarled out, “You fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>touch</span>
  </em>
  <span> my reporter again and I’ll beat the shit out of you, you sadistic bastard.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knew that voice, but didn’t recognize the frenetic exuberance in it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kylo? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Your</span>
  </em>
  <span> reporter, is she?” Hux slurred, staring up with too-bright eyes. “Ought to tell her that, then. She’s… very much enjoying herself, it seems, here with </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>—” and his hand flashed out like lightning to grab Rey between the legs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey was set on the floor, wobbling, and the next thing she knew Kylo had lunged at Hux, a huge fist drawing back and smashing into his face. Blood spattered the sofa. Hux gurgled, the not-groupies— or whoever they were— screamed, Phasma yelled in alarm, and the people all shouted and screamed, and Kylo just kept punching and punching, shaking him like a dog shaking a rat until Trix stumbled over, her clothes in disarray, one pale breast falling out of her tank top, and physically yanked Kylo off him. “Stop!” she screamed, hauling him back as he fought her, trying to get back to Hux, who seemed barely conscious, blood streaming from his face, his mouth, his nose. “Stop! Kylo, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop!</span>
  </em>
  <span><em>”</em> Blood was smearing scarlet onto Trix, onto Kylo’s knuckles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>you!” screamed Kylo, practically raring to go back at Hux. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>high, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey realized in horror, high as a fucking kite and amped up with a single focus in mind: absolutely obliterating Hux. Nothing could stop him, not even Phasma: he broke Trix’s hold and threw himself back on Hux, punching him again. There was a sickening crack of bone, and Rey suddenly realized that Kylo might actually kill him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop!” she shouted, staggering forward and throwing her arms around his waist. “Stop! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo shook her off like she was nothing and gripped Hux around the throat. The man gurgled, his face frozen, his lips turning blue as he stared up into Kylo’s face, only naked terror painted there. Kylo didn’t even see Rey, or anyone else: his dark hair hung in his glassy eyes, and his gaze was focused entirely on Hux. Hatred filled his whole face, even under the smeared paint.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey frantically tugged at Kylo’s fingers: they were like granite, like steel, like iron. “Stop! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ben, stop!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she screamed, and the fingers… went slack, falling away: Hux was making noises, which meant he was breathing, but all Rey could see was Kylo’s face, hatred slipping away to shock as he found her again, his bloody hands still clenched in hers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get paramedics in here,” said Phasma tightly, shoving them all aside to start first aid on Hux. “Party’s over. You can all leave.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A man in a pair of silk boxers and nothing else sheepishly raised his hand from the sofa where he was tangled up in some kind of threeway with two other random people. “I’m, um, actually an EMT,” he offered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then get over here and start looking for a fucking pulse,” said Phasma, digging out her phone. “I’ll get you three extra passes for the next one if you keep him alive until the ambulance gets here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey couldn’t move. Kylo was staring right at her, and he hadn’t moved either, and his breath was coming in big, erratic gasps as people moved around them, past them, unseeing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re going to tell the EMTs it was a party gone wrong, </span>
  </em>
  <span>said Mitaka’s voice, calm and soothing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The rest of you get to the recovery room and get some fluids into you. Simmer down. It’s all okay. We have a show to finish.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her heartbeat was so loud she couldn’t think. Everything felt so... wonderful, actually: floating, happy, carefree. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I called him by his name. In front of all these people. Did they hear me? Did they care? Do I care?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phasma was suddenly at her side, reaching out for her. “Miss Niima, you should really—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo suddenly jerked Rey back to him, clutching her tight to him, and his touch felt like silk, like everything she’d ever wanted in the world coming back to her. “No. You don’t fucking touch her,” he snapped, backing up with Rey. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kylo,” began Phasma, hands slightly raised, “I only want to make sure she’s all right. Let her—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he snapped, shaking his head. Rey could feel the heat of him baking through her shirt, and became aware her bra was askew, her right breast trapped under the band. It felt delicious, like a rough caress, an embrace: his body was so warm and firm and felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span> pressed into her like this. “No, you’re going to fucking— fucking— you can fuck off. Fuck right off. </span>
  <em>
    <span>All</span>
  </em>
  <span> of you can fuck right off.” He backed up with her, all the way to the door, and put himself between the rest of the room and her, caging her in with his body and arms. Oh, she loved him so much: he was going to get her out of here— and she loved Phasma, Phasma was so nice and concerned for her. She would have hugged the woman, but Kylo was in the way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Rey said as clearly as she could through the love and happiness that was clogging her brain up. Clearly, Kylo was, in addition to being high as shit, having some kind of break, and she wanted very much to not make it worse. “I’m okay. I think— I think Kylo’s… sick. I’m going to go with him.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Am I high? What did Hux give me?</span>
  </em>
  <span> It didn’t seem to matter: she wasn’t angry, and that was nice. Everything was nice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wonderful. I guess I’m high. Who cares?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” said Phasma, uninterested as she knelt back down and started holding a towel to Hux’s gushing face with one hand, texting with the other. “Get him out of here. We’ll handle the rest of the show without him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll collect you later,” said Mitaka, frantically juggling phones. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey had enough time to catch a breath before Kylo gripped her by the waist, picked her up with inhuman strength, and carried her out of the room, striding down the corridor with her slung over his shoulder, gripping the back of her thighs with one arm as he muttered to himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Being upside down was so funny! She giggled aloud, letting her arms swing free as his shoulder pressed into her belly. “Ceiling’s down there now!” she told him, laughing. “Ooh, Kylo, hey— I think I can walk, I’m okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hand, hand free, good tactical advantage,” he said, apparently not even hearing her. “Gotta find, gotta find a safe place, out of the way, right— somewhere they’re not gonna come fucking smashing in, not anyone, not Hux—” Rey thought that maybe Hux wasn’t in the best of shape to start banging down doors just yet, but kept that to herself as he turned down another hall and kicked open a door, setting her down on a sofa and locking it behind him, then dragging a chair in front of it. Rey sat quietly, watching him work, and after he’d barricaded it to his satisfaction he turned on her, eyes gleaming, pupils huge and singularly focused. “He hurt you,” he said. It wasn’t a question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, right. He gave me drugs and grabbed me. I almost forgot. Huh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey swallowed as her brain slowly caught up to the full events of the night, and heat welled in her eyes: that had </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she had been trapped there like a scared animal, helpless as he’d— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no, no,” said Kylo, agitated as tears started spilling down her cheeks. He stalked around wildly and came up with a box of tissues, hurrying back and kneeling at her feet as he carefully dabbed every tear away. The tissues felt like silk tulle, like a fairy palace blanket, like… she didn’t know, but it felt so good that she didn’t want him to ever stop. He seemed very focused on not letting the tears drip off her face. “No, don’t cry, don’t cry. You’re safe now. You’re okay. I’ll make it okay. I promise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s a fucking dick,” Rey cried, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, and Kylo nodded emphatically.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s a bastard. Motherfucking asshole.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Asshole,” she agreed, sniffing. “Who the fuck— did he pay those people to come in there and do all that? Have a weird orgy? And gave you party drugs? What the hell?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Does it when he thinks we need a reminder. They’re… important people. They get access to us. Exclusive access. Sometimes it’s just… we’re being fucking pimped out. Fucking… bullshit.” Kylo scrubbed his face frantically with his hands, makeup smearing under his fingers, under his nails. “I need… I need to get clean.” A sob broke in his throat. “You saw it. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>saw</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here,” said Rey, and reached up with a handful of Kleenex, wiping the white and black paint off his face until all that was left were a few smears of white and black around his hairline and a red smudge on his mouth. Like a bruise. Like a bloodstain. The tissues felt soft to touch. She wanted to rub them on her face like a cat, but stopped herself. “Not my best work, but—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You did good work. You do. You can sing. You—” Kylo grunted, rocking a little on his haunches. “You got away from all this shit. You… made the right choice. Strong enough. I— I wasn’t strong enough to say no.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was assaulted before,” she confessed, more tears dripping. “My first manager, after I went viral. I don’t even remember his name, but he— he tried to give me cocaine and feel me up, and I ran. That’s why— I’d almost blocked it out, I think, but I remembered when I saw all those drugs in there— I remembered. Am I high?” Rey wiped her nose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You—” Kylo made a noise like he’d been stabbed. “Shit. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I didn’t know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wish I’d punched him like you’d punched Hux.” Rey offered him a half-smile, and he rocked back a little and stood, revealing… quite a bit more of his anatomy pressing through those leather pants than she really wanted to think about, under the circumstances. “Oh. Your, uh, dick…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know,” he said, almost annoyed as he looked away. “I’m… really hard right now. It’s. Side effect. They gave me Viagra. Always do. Happens. Sorry. At least this time I got away before anyone fucked me. What did he give you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. What did </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> take?” She frowned, trying to think. If she wasn’t having those side effects, the side effects of being turned on, would she have them later?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You mean what did they feed me? Bennies. Ironic, right? Makes me… manic. Kind of. Jumpy. I didn’t…. Did I hurt you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” she said honestly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo nodded. “Good. Focused. Really focused. Hux gives them to me when I, um, need more of a push to finish working. Hate the things. Makes my fuckin’ sex drive just… blow through the goddamn roof. Boom.” He gestured with his hands. “They last about… I don’t remember. Couple hours. Can’t… perform on them anymore, because I get sick sometimes. Fuck. I wanted to finish that concert. Should I— I think I’ll go back out— ”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no. We… we’ll have our own concert,” Rey offered, head spinning. “Me and you. I’ll sing for you. You want me to sing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he said eagerly, settling down at her feet and waiting, staring at her with those hyperfocused eyes of his, the pupils as big as dinner plates and drowning out the warmth of his greeny-brown irises.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, that was that. Rey took a deep breath and started to sing the first song she could think of: one she hadn’t sung in a while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blackbird singing in the dead of night</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Take these broken wings and learn to fly</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>All your life</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>You were only waiting for this moment to arise</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Blackbird singing in the dead of night</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Take these sunken eyes and learn to see</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>All your life</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>You were only waiting for this moment to be free</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Blackbird, fly</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Blackbird, fly</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Into the light of the dark black night</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo remained where he was, focused completely on her as she sang. Tears swelled in his eyes, dripping down his cheeks, but he never moved from his spot at her feet, listening until the song was over and she was launching into every verse she could remember of “This Land Is Your Land”, and after that, “Hey Jude” and after that she sang “You Are My Sunshine” until he was crying softly, his head in her lap, his arm tucked under her knees. His head was warm and heavy, his hair felt like cashmere, like angora, like the most wonderful thing she’d ever touched, and after a moment she felt his lips press to her waist, beneath the shirt, a shy little kiss just above her navel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Soprano,” he whispered, as they sat in silence, some time after. She was beginning to think whatever Hux had given her was wearing off. He still felt good against her body, but the intensified feelings of happiness were gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your voice. Soprano. Good midrange, solid. Warm.” His eyes were fluttering shut. “I feel like shit. Wish I was in… sunlight. Or a garden. I like gardens. With flowers. Gonna sleep.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You go to sleep,” she told him, reaching out and gently stroking his hair. His breath was humid and hot on her thighs, and his hair was soft between her fingers. “Shh. You sleep.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next morning, Rey found herself back in her own hotel room, tucked into bed. Someone had changed her into pajamas… or maybe she’d changed. She couldn’t remember. As she sat up and blinked groggily, flashes from the previous night assailed her memory.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The concert. The drugs, the blood, the fight: sitting in the dressing room with Kylo Ren passed out on her lap, and after that, flashes of Mitaka helping her up. Phasma half-carrying Kylo to the shuttle. How she’d been in a daze, so tired…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re up,” said a voice, and Rey jerked to full awareness, staring at the corner of the room, where the last person she had expected to see was sitting, legs crossed and looking haggard. “Hi.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Trix?” she said. “What are you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Making sure you’re okay. Shh.” Trix unfolded her long body from the seat and sighed, stretching. “Been here since Phasma left. That was bullshit, what Hux pulled on you. She’s pissed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is he… dead?” Rey asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s in the hospital. Broken nose, busted lip, fractured orbital socket, gonna need stitches in his cheek. Kylo really did a number on him.” Mild pride was seeping through her voice. “Anyway. If you ever need someone to talk to about all that shit, you can hit me up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I—” Right. Rey groaned. “It’s not… it’s not that bad. Really. It could have been worse. All he did was—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Give you MDMA and grab your pussy. Don’t pull that </span>
  <em>
    <span>but it could have been worse so I’m fine</span>
  </em>
  <span> bullshit on yourself.” Trix ran a hand through her blond hair. “There’s no worse or better. Someone else might have gotten raped, or face-fucked, or whatever. It doesn’t make </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> problem any better, does it? Still made you feel like shit, powerless and alone, didn’t it?” Her eyes blazed with heat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey felt tears soak her cheeks. “Yeah,” she said, wiping her eyes with the corner of the sheets. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trix nodded. “Yeah. Don’t minimize your own— all the shit floating around that’s happened to you, in your brain. Trauma soup. That’s the first rule.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s the second rule?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blue eyes met Rey’s. “Get the bastard who did it and bring him the fuck down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m working on that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you? Kylo hinted you might be.” Trix leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “Listen. We tried. We really fucking tried to keep Hux off your ass. Especially after you took the hit for Carter. I want you to know that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… appreciate it,” Rey said, sniffling. “God. I don’t even know what I should do now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trix nodded. “Call your editor. Not from your phone. Hux is monitoring all our shit, and since he’s out of the picture for a moment, it’s all going straight to Snoke. And I can’t believe I’m fucking saying this, but tell her everything. I mean everything. She’ll have legal counsel for you on speed-dial. He’s given you drugs and assaulted you in a room of witnesses, for fuck’s sake. You can go home if you have to, and you might even get a decent amount of money from Empire to stay quiet—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? No, I mean, what should I do— I was trying to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> guys out of your shitty contracts,” Rey blurted out, surprised. “Jesus. He’s— they’re feeding you guys drugs and taking photos of you with stuff jammed into your ass naked with people all over you for </span>
  <em>
    <span>blackmail</span>
  </em>
  <span>—like, are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, honey,” said Trix, blinking. “No. Those contracts are airtight. You’re sweet, but—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean it.” Rey got out of bed along with a waft of sweaty stench— she really needed a damn shower, and made a mental note to do that as soon as possible. “Really. I’ve been researching Snoke as much as I can, and I just— I know there has to be a way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trix had the kind of expression on her face that Rey had seen from patient teachers, teachers who were trying very hard to be nice when she just couldn’t understand something. “Rey. If you were to pursue this, you’d have to do it from New York behind an army of lawyers, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’d have to have multiple pieces of concrete, solid evidence for every single claim. Believe me. I’ve thought about it, too. It’s just not feasible. These people own </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Kylo?” asked Rey, anxious to escape the topic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Sleeping off his amphetamine crash.” Trix sighed. “I wouldn’t go near him until you have to. He’s pretty fucked up about the whole situation. Especially because you had to see all that. I don’t think you’d help him much right now</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>All that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “When are we leaving?” Rey sat back down on the bed, swinging her feet lightly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As soon as we can. Hux will recover here and fly out to wherever we are when he’s cleared to by the hospital.” Trix stood up and sighed, and Rey noted how tired she looked. “Don’t forget. Stay on your best behavior. It’s all going to Snoke. Unfiltered. Mitaka is very by the book.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won’t. I mean, I will. You know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right,” said Trix, and rubbed her eyes one last time before leaving the hotel room as quietly as she had come.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. VIII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>- cw: sex where party panics afterward due to trauma. <br/>- and all the rest, read the tags etc you know the drill by now</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next two stops went by like agony. Rey stayed as far away from everyone as she could get, and rode in the staff bus with Mitaka and Phasma instead of the tour buses: Dallas all the way up to Chicago, and after that, Minneapolis without an incident, and by the time the buses were roaring across the flat, dry Midwest on the way to Denver, Rey thought maybe she could make it to Los Angeles without anything else being fucked up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She pretended to have to pee at a rest stop in South Dakota after the sun had gone down, where she ran around the back of the building and found a pay phone. Digging in her pocket for change (and who even carried change anymore?) she waited for the dial tone and tapped Ms. Holdo’s cell phone number from where it was saved on her cell phone into the old metal pad, appreciating the heft of the buttons: this thing was ancient, but still worked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The phone rang and rang, and Rey stood there like a jackass just </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowing</span>
  </em>
  <span> Phasma or someone would come around the corner right up till the phone picked up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello?”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey caught her breath. That voice was bringing back long walks down Fifth Avenue, the smell of Central Park in the summer, the rattling of the A train, the taste of cold, too-sour lemonade on her tongue in the summer. “Ms. Holdo?” she choked, trying to fight past the sob working its way up through her throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Rey? Is that you?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ms. Holdo sounded shocked. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why haven’t you called from your phone? This says it’s an unlisted number—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t,” Rey managed, wiping her face. “Oh, God, I can’t— Snoke’s monitoring everything. Every phone call, every text— he has the band’s phones bugged and Mitaka holds them all anyway, one of them has a fucking flip phone hidden in a bus that we use for emergencies—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Slow down.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Holdo sounded like she was scrambling for a piece of paper. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Where are you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m at a rest stop in the middle of South Dakota. Our next stop is Denver.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay. And you— you said your phone’s being tapped?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Monitored or something, yeah. But that’s not— that’s not the worst part. Ms. Holdo, I need you to please, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> call Legal—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course, that’s not even a question— you can’t have your rights infringed on like this as a member of the free press—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Belatedly, Rey realized that her sense of normal had shifted wildly during the past two weeks. “No! I mean for the band! He’s made them sign these insane contracts, he’s feeding them tons of party drugs, they can’t do anything on their own! We have to do something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a long, cautious silence. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Those are very serious accusations, Rey.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey nodded. “I know. I— I have proof. Okay. Literally, like, a week ago, in Dallas, their manager, Hux, brought in all these people to the green room and everyone was out of their gourds on, like, ecstasy and cocaine— the manager tried to, he made me sit on his lap and grabbed my crotch and gave me MDMA and Kylo Ren beat the hell out of him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>He gave you what?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Holdo sounded horrified. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sending the police, then— I’ll call and have them take you into custody and bring you back home—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey blinked. “What? No! Don’t send the police. It’s fine. He’s still in the hospital in Dallas as far as I know. You can check the press photos— he’s not in them. Tall guy with red hair. See? That proves it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That doesn’t prove anything other than the current absence of a manager.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Holdo sounded exhausted. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Listen, Rey. I’m not saying I don’t believe you. I know what the music industry is like. But you’re going to need undeniable, absolute proof of this if you come home and you want to go to court, and you won’t be able to get it by secretly recording on your phone if Snoke has it bugged with spyware. Will any of the members make a sworn and notarized statement?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, they’re all— that would break the contract, and Snoke has a ton of shit on them. Blackmail. You know.” Rey gripped the phone tight. “Photos of them, their private information. He wouldn’t— like, they’re so popular right now that he could do serious damage just by releasing one of their real names. Someone would look it up on the Internet and find them in a heartbeat and stalk them…” An idea popped into her mind. “Ms. Holdo, I know for sure there have to be, like, blind items on gossip sites. Could you get someone to see if anyone’s posted anything online that might be, um, dirt on Snoke, while I keep looking here on my end? We can check in with each other at intervals—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her boss sounded bewildered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Hold on. You want me to get someone to start looking for dirt on the CRE of First Order, the highest paid and most powerful executive at Empire Records, because you want to, what? Reverse blackmail him into releasing performers out of a contract they signed of their own free will? And you’re refusing to come home after you were fed ecstasy? Rey, are you okay?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They were— it was entrapment!” Rey hissed through her teeth. “They didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know,</span>
  </em>
  <span> they didn’t have their own lawyers to go through it!” Memory came back, memory of her own contract signed with JKU Records and the verbal agreement saying she’d get paid, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> that shitty little clause that said JKU would own all the rights to her music and all profits made off YouTube views, and she’d had no idea until the checks never came… “You don’t understand,” she managed, trying not to cry over the phone. “Please. I can get this done from here if I stay, but  have to have help. Just have someone look. Anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A long, staticky sigh burst from the receiver. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll have someone look. No promises on whether we’ll find anything, Ms. Niima. And for God’s sake, stay safe and check in with me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It will be,” said Rey, closing her eyes in gratitude. “And I’ll try. I can promise you that.” The sounds of footsteps crunching met her ears, and she froze. “Got to go. Don’t call me on my cell. I’ll call you. Bye.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t give a spluttering Amilyn time to say anything before she hung up, and when Phasma came around the corner of the building, all she saw was Rey, squatting on the ground against the wall of the rest stop, head hanging low. “Carsick?” she asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A little.” Rey raised her head. “You have any Zofran?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In the bus, yeah.” Phasma indicated with a tilt of her head. “Mitaka grabbed some snacks from the vending machines. If you want any.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey’s belly growled. “Oh, yeah. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t mention it. Gonna be a long night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>They drove all night and stopped in Rapid City about seven in the morning for a hot breakfast. It was a fairly large town, billed as the “Gateway to Mount Rushmore” which Umar complained about under his breath as they sat in a booth at Denny’s and waited for their pancakes and eggs. Rey could hear him from her table where she sat with Mitaka and Phasma. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know the guy who carved that shit was a card-carrying KKK member?” Umar was saying, low and angry. “Fuckin’ desecrated a sacred site. Six Grandfathers. That place belongs to the Lakota Sioux.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, tell me about it,” said Victor, eyes alight with righteous fury. “Fucked the place up looking for gold, then vandalized the damn mountains.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How about we try to keep a low profile,” suggested Phasma flatly, eyes flickering over a pair of shocked-looking tourists who were passing the table on their way to the door. “I’m sure the last thing this place needs at the moment is a political riot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” said Kate darkly, “god forbid something gets in the way of making money.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trix exchanged a look with Carter. The whole mood of the band had definitely changed somewhere between Dallas and here, and the unspoken warning was clear: </span>
  <em>
    <span>not yet.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “We have not had enough coffee for this yet,” she said. “How about we eat our food before we start dismantling the system?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey could feel Kylo Ren’s eyes fixated on her face, even as she tried her best not to look at him— she even tried to look like she <em>wasn’t</em> trying to <em>not</em> look at him, and that failed completely. He was slouched in his seat, looking sullen, and that dark gaze seemed to be cataloging every movement she made. “I’ve never been to South Dakota,” she offered, looking quickly at Carter. “Never been further west than, um, Jersey before this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never?” Carter looked scandalized. “We are definitely going to stop at the Grand Canyon on our way out of Phoenix, then. Oh, my god, I wish you’d said something earlier.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This,” said Kylo, who was staring directly at the table suddenly, and not at Rey, “is not a fucking family road trip, Carter.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If it was, we’d all have matching T-shirts,” said Carter, lifting a brow. Kylo looked like he was about to say something sharp in return, but the two waitresses came back with their food, and his attention shifted over immediately to the hash browns.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stopped for the night in Cheyenne, Wyoming, in a Marriott extended-stay type of building that Mitaka made clear would never have been acceptable to Hux’s taste. Rey couldn’t care less. After a week of sleeping on the bus, any place with a bed was fine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She got her key and headed up to the floor they’d been given, and once she’d gotten the door open she sighed in relief: a clean, fresh room with that sterile, bland hotel atmosphere and a queen-sized bed just for her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Heaven.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey immediately set her bag on the floor and headed for the shower. She left the door ajar and turned the water on, letting it heat up while she stripped out of her gross clothes and went hunting for her toiletries. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll have to make a stop for some more conditioner,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, frowning at her bottle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, and Rey jumped to her feet, startled, as her door clicked shut. “Who’s there?” she demanded, snatching up a hand towel to cover her crotch and flinging the door wide. “Who the fuck—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo Ren was sitting on her bed, still in his hoodie and T-shirt from the morning, cool as a cucumber, eyeing her with just the right amount of dispassionate sullenness. “I have no plans to walk into your bathroom,” he told her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you in here?” she snapped, wielding her shampoo bottle like a sword at him with one hand while she frantically tried to make the tiny hotel towel cover her whole front with the other. <em>They never make these goddamn things big enough. </em>“How did you get in?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I got a key from the front desk,” he said. “Don’t panic. I just want to talk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You,” she told him, brandishing the bottle, “are on thin fucking ice. Wait till I’m done showering.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He raised his hands in surrender and watched her as she backed up into the bathroom, where she shut the door and very emphatically and loudly locked it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shower was the quickest one she’d ever taken— mostly because she hadn’t spoken to Kylo in a week and change— not after the drug-fueled, insane bender Hux had inflicted on them all and the aftermath of it. She got out, dried off, realized her clean clothes were still in the bag outside the bathroom door, mentally kicked herself, and grabbed a towel to wear before she towel-dried her hair, put her glasses on, and marched out into her room. The stupid thing barely covered her crotch, even tugged down to only cover her nipples. <em>Goddamn hotel towels!</em></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo was still there as she edged out, face crimson. “Well,” he said, eyes flickering across her towel-clad form before going back to her face. “Not the best seduction attempt I’ve ever had.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shut up,” she snapped, and crouched down to find her clean pajamas and a pair of underwear in her bag. “I didn’t want to walk out in the nude and offend your delicate sensibilities.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughed. “In case you forgot Dallas, I’ve seen naked women, Ms. Niima.” So she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ms. Niima</span>
  </em>
  <span> again, was she? “I just haven’t ever gotten off in one, or around one. Or <em>on</em> one, come to think of it—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to be gross for shock value,” she demanded, dropping the towel and yanking on her underwear and a T-shirt, “or did you have a point when you walked in here and—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, right.” He leaned back on the bed, supporting himself with his big hands as he stared at her. “Phas hasn’t bugged shit on this stop, so. I figured if you wanted to… discuss what happened in Dallas… since I’m sober. Mostly. At the moment. A goddamn miracle.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What—” Her face flamed with heat. “Oh, when your shitty manager gave me ecstasy and you beat him up? That part?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That...and the part where, uh, I think— I can’t remember, but you— were singing. Right?” He looked suddenly unsure. “Beatles.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I was. I think. Because you were off your tits on uppers and wanting to run out on stage again, so I just distracted you until you came down.” Rey yanked on her sleep shorts and frowned at him. “You don’t remember any of that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not much. Did I say anything… stupid?” Kylo’s eyes were guarded again in a flash, walls up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stupid? Not other than saying you wanted to go back out on stage. And you told me I was a good soprano.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said, visibly relaxing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you had a massive boner throughout the whole conversation because I guess Hux fed you Viagra or bennies or something,” she added, just to watch his eyes bulge out of his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus,” he said, red in the face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t remember anything I told you, either?” Rey prompted, leaning against the wall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not… specifically. I remember being furious, just so angry and hyped up and ready to...do anything, you know. Light the place on fire, burn something, kill something, get my hands inside Hux’s body and just—” Kylo made a violent motion with his hands. “Did you… when we were in the dressing room, did you say something important? I feel like you did, but I can’t remember.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, just told you one of my deep dark memories, and you were too strung out to even hear me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“No,” Rey said through her teeth. “Nothing important at all.” As if it mattered. She’d been high as shit, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo looked guilty, but only for a fraction of a second. “If you… want to talk about, um—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay! Christ!” Kylo jerked up off the bed, shoulders hunched as he glared at her. “Kate said sometimes people need to be able to vent when shit like that happens and fucks someone up, but clearly you don’t need—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey gaped. “Kate? Why are you talking to Kate about my fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>business—</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He went crimson. “It’s everyone’s business, we were all in the room and it’s not like Hux hasn’t done that shit to us before—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> your business, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine</span>
  </em>
  <span> because it happened to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span><em>!”</em> Rey wanted to throw something at him. “Did Kate put you up to this? Talking to me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was floundering, red from chin to hairline with humiliation. “She— I asked </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> for advice on bringing it up after a week—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you asking your </span>
  <em>
    <span>bandmates</span>
  </em>
  <span> for—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Because I fucking <em>need you to be okay!”</em></span>
  <span> he shouted, loud enough to bring the walls down. Silence hung between them, thick as perfume in the air as they stared at each other. Kylo’s hands were shaking. He balled them into fists. “I need. You. To be okay,” he repeated through his teeth. “You don’t understand. You don’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” said Rey calmly, trying to quiet her pounding heart. “Okay. So help me understand. Is this, is it a psychological thing, like you, you said that night that— I made the right choice, and you weren’t strong enough to say no. Is that what this is about?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He made a sound like he was fighting something and pressed his hands to his face. “I said— </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>— why didn’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell me</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But is it?” she pressed. “I can’t— I won’t be able to understand you if you don’t explain it to me. And I want to understand you.” Kylo didn’t move, just stood there, staring at the wall with his breathing coming in forced, even gusts. “Ben,” she whispered, and his eyes snapped to hers as if drawn by a magnet. She could see almost immediately the desperation written there, the longing, the fear. “Please. Let me help you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need help,” he said in a voice that was surely not meant to be as fragile as it sounded. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what <em>do</em> you need?” she demanded. “Why are you in here? What do you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In a movement so fast she had no time to say a word, Kylo had jerked himself up off the bed, made a beeline for her, and gripped her by the shoulders. “I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he ground out. “I don’t know, I don’t— I need you to be, to be, </span>
  <em>
    <span>good,</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be okay, because I can’t be— I’m not okay, I’m never going to be— okay, and, and, you’re— I’m fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>weak,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m weak as shit and I signed that bullshit without knowing what I was doing but I— I don’t know what’s going to happen to me if I say no, if I leave. Snoke— he has all the fucking power here. He made me who I am. I can— he can take all that away like nothing. Blink of an eye. And I don’t know who I fucking am anymore.” His voice broke, and she saw tears in his eyes as he began to gulp in little breaths, trying to keep himself from crying. “And when I get like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they, they find out and shove more shit down my throat and—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Rey said, shaking her head. “It’s going to be okay, I’m— I know firsthand now what they’re doing to you. I’m going to find a way to help, I promise I’ll try—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please,” he sobbed, gazing down into her face with big, wet eyes, and she didn’t know if he was asking her to help, or to try, or— what, but his hands slid up to cup her jaw, to lie warm along her cheek, and he was bending down, close and careful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey pulled him to the wall as his mouth found hers, her whole body eagerly crying out for more as his other hand gripped her shoulder, holding her firmly in place. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought blindly, hands fisted in the fabric of his soft hoodie, his hair brushing her cheeks and her forehead as he groaned into her mouth, pinned her against the wall. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, yes, yes, anything—</span>
  </em>
  <span> Against all her rational thought, she wanted more, wanted him, wanted to take him and hold him and—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo’s thick fingers fumbled at her face, combing through her damp hair. His mouth left hers for a second, just long enough to moan, “Fuck,” and got right back to where they had been, tongue slipping across her lower lip. “Fuck, fuck,” he panted again, breaking away from her to peel his hoodie off. “Do you know how— much I— thought about this—that fucking car ride in Florida— you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>killing</span>
  </em>
  <span> me— ”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>And Rey understood suddenly, completely: the notes in his phone </span><em><span>had</span></em><span> been about her.</span> <span>“Fuck,” she echoed, tears in her eyes as he came back for another messy, wet kiss that left a trail across her mouth and cheek. “You’re a— terrible fucking liar— or a really good one—”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He choked a laugh out and sniffled into her hair. “Shut up,” he said. “God, I can’t— if Snoke finds out—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey shook her head. “He won’t. This room’s not— we’re safe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not for long,” Kylo mumbled. “I don’t, I don’t want you to fucking remember me like that, Dallas, I don’t—do you want to—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she said immediately, every atom of her body alight between her legs. “Please, yes, anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Yeah. Okay.” He stepped away for a moment, sizing her up. “Let’s go, go sit on the bed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey didn’t need to be told twice. She legged it over to the bed as fast as her wobbly knees could carry her, then crawled into Kylo’s lap when he awkwardly patted his broad thigh to indicate she should sit. She thought he might drop her, but he was as solid as a wall, and held her steady as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again. “I want, I just want,” she whispered, half ashamed. “Fuck, I shouldn’t— it’s not ethical, I mean, we shouldn’t—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if you noticed,” he growled, a huge warm hand on her thigh, “but ethics are not really part of the life we live. Put that in your fucking article. Can I, can I get my hand up in, on, you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, fuck, please,” Rey demanded, and shivered as he pulled her sideways for better access, tugged her underwear down, and carefully rubbed a single broad finger between her labia, bringing it up to circle idly around her clit. It felt nice, really nice, and she relaxed a little. “Ben—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ohh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> call me that right now,” he growled, suddenly alive with fire. His finger stroked back and up again, faster and harder, and Rey squirmed, blushing and burying her face in his shoulder as the slick, squishy sounds of her filled the room. “Bad reporter,” Kylo chastised, low and dark, and she thought she might die of how fucking turned on she was. Was it possible, actually? Could she just overheat and conk out like a computer?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you just—fucking put your finger in me—” The request came out haggard, gasped between strokes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, ah. You— you wait,” Kylo said, tucking his chin over her head as he played at her clit, her opening, the sensitive areas between her legs. She shifted and found she was pressing against his cock, which was extremely erect, hard as iron, and stuck between his abdomen and her thigh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fucking—” Rey gritted her teeth: the friction was becoming unbearable, too much stimulation on her clit to actually climax from. “God damn it, fucking give me your fingers! Something! Shit!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ask nicely,” he panted, tilting his head and making her look up at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck— please, please get your fingers into my, my—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Into your what?” Kylo prompted, watching her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God, she wanted to slap him. “My, my, my p-pussy, my cunt, my vagina, </span>
  <em>
    <span>whatever you want to fucking call it I don’t care—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slipped his index and middle fingers in together, one smooth thrust, and Rey had to cover her mouth to not cry out. His fingers were fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>big</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the palm of his hand cupped her pubic mound almost perfectly, exacting pressure down on her clit as he began to pump his hand in even, slow strokes. “This what you wanted?” he demanded, gripping her close with his free arm. “Yeah? You want me to play you like this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“F-f-fuck,” Rey gasped, toes curling in as her orgasm approached. Tears filled her eyes again: she was going to come, it was going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he— he— “Ben, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ben</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t stop moving his hand, not even when she came hard around his fingers, a full-throated, crazed shriek slipping from her lips as light gushed down her spine. “Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah,</span>
  </em>
  <span> oh, fuck,” he whispered, talking all the way through it, cradling her close, stroking her bare legs, her hips, her knees. “Oh, God, Rey. I fucking, I could feel you when you came, shit. I didn’t know it could be like that. Fuck.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, God,” she echoed, lifting her head as he laid her out on the bed. “Ben—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh,” he gasped, fumbling with his pants and dragging them down, pulling down his underwear. “Oh, fuck, I’m s-sorry, I have to, I, I swear to God I'm clean, I just need to fucking come—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Rey gasped, reaching out for him as he rolled himself between her thighs, pulling her over to rest on her right side and raising her left leg up, gripping it tight. Her belly clenched in anticipation, and she gripped the forearm planted by her head as he lined himself up, the broad head of him easing in, and in. As his shaking fingers dug into her soft thigh, his body crammed into hers, full to the brim, she muffled a cry that seemed to come out of a place she forgot existed: it had been a while since Rey had had sex, to be perfectly honest, and this was—</span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a lot. “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fast, fast, I promise,” he choked out, and she twisted her head up: to her shock, he was crying, tears streaking his cheeks as he shut his eyes and began to move in a quick, hard rhythm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Look at me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she wanted to cry, to demand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Look at me, I’m right here, don’t cry, it’s just us. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But she couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but moan in short little huffs as his breathing got tight and quick, his mouth trembled, and after that he was spilling over, sobbing aloud as he emptied himself into her body. “Ben?” she gasped as he remained where he was with his head hanging low, almost on her shoulder; chest heaving, hands frozen, breath shaking. “Ben, are you okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sucked in a breath and jerked out of her so fast he almost fell off the bed. “I’m sorry,” he forced out between his teeth, and his face… Rey wanted to reach out to him, to tell him it was okay: anything to get that self-loathing and horror off his face. “Fuck. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reality came rushing back into the void left by her wrung-out brain. Her Nexplanon was good for another two and a half years, but... “Oh, god. We, we can’t do that again. I’ll lose my credentials, I’ll be fired…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” he said, sounding drained as he covered his eyes with his hands. “No. No, we shouldn’t have, can’t— we won’t. Fuck me. I shouldn’t have…” He bent down, yanking his pants back to where they belonged, fumbling with the fly. “Fuck.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just go,” she whispered, so ashamed she could barely breathe as she struggled to pull her underwear back on. Her glasses were crooked, half off one ear. “Please.” If he stayed, someone would find out, and then— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Kylo repeated brokenly, and dragged his hoodie back on, jamming his arms into the sleeves. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But I’m not mad at him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, dazed, and rolled to the side as he was leaving. “Ben—” she began, but the door was already closing behind him, leaving her alone in the hotel room. Rey rolled to her back and fought the tears dripping down the sides of her cheeks. “Fuck,” she said aloud, yanking off her glasses and shoving her hands into her face. “Fuck, goddammit.” The air conditioning droned on to keep the Wyoming summer outside at bay, and Rey curled up on her side, a vaguely throbbing, open feeling between her thighs, trying not to cry too loudly.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. IX</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw for mentions of spousal abuse, pregnancy, and childbirth: we talk a little bit about Kylo's grandfather.<br/>also a tw for self-harm and a mental breakdown followed by a referenced disassociative episode!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The buses rolled into Denver the next day, the flat Wyoming landscape changing to beautiful mountains and blue skies, green trees and crisp air. Rey got off the bus at the venue and did not look at or speak to Kylo, and he seemed perfectly content to not look at or speak to her either. She tried to not think about his hands as she followed Phasma to the dressing rooms and sat on a folding chair in the corner, re-editing a few drafts of her article on her phone. </p><p> </p><p>Big hands. <em> Big </em> hands, calloused and huge and still careful and cautious as they had probed into her, and then become quick and deft and manic and rough in the next heartbeat, and that <em> dick.. </em> . Rey pressed her thighs together uncomfortably as heat flooded her body. <em> Stop thinking about his hands and his chest and his dick. Stop it. </em>She sat on her hands to ground herself and shut her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>It had been nothing. Just a one-night stand, confusingly hot, ending in tears: she wouldn’t talk to him again for the rest of the trip and that would be just fine. Right? He clearly didn’t want to speak to her again, and why would he? He’d regretted fucking her the instant it was over. </p><p> </p><p>And yet, that litany of tortured half-sentences and raw empty pain she’d found on his phone so long ago seemed to burn like a brand in the back of her mind. <em> Every time she breathes near me I want to break something. </em> And that… that had been about <em> her, </em> not Trix. Rey tried to picture herself mentally: five-foot-seven, glasses, boring brown hair, freckles, a too-wide mouth, a too-pointy nose. What the hell could Kylo Ren, of all people, find appealing about <em> her? </em> </p><p> </p><p><em> Maybe he doesn’t understand why I— I— like him either, </em> she thought, color rushing to her face at the thought of even admitting attraction to an interviewee. Except he was more than that, now: he’d been more than that for a long time, and so had the others. <em> I can admit it in my head. Just not out loud. Not ever. Nobody’s going to know if I just think about it. </em></p><p> </p><p>Phasma interrupted her daydream with a curt “you ready for the rehearsal?” as she looked up, startled.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. Rehearsal? Sure.”</p><p> </p><p>“Great. Come on.” Phasma led her up to the empty auditorium, seats for forty thousand people all empty, and the stage set up. KORE was on stage without makeup or costumes, and it was almost jarring to see them in their ordinary clothes, tuning instruments. </p><p> </p><p>Rey sat in an empty seat about fifteen rows back from the front and covered her ears as Phasma walked away to check on something and feedback from a microphone squealed its electric wail through the speakers. “Fuck,” said Umar, and moved his mic. The screech stopped. “There. Okay. Set list?”</p><p> </p><p>“Here,” said Carter, shoving it to a music stand in the front. “We do the same one every performance. You forgot already?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, jackass. I just like seeing it. All right.” Umar checked the bass tuning one last time. “Kylo, take us away.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylo was standing center stage in his jeans and a white T-shirt, looking like some unholy crossbreed of James Dean and a wild bison as he bent to almost kiss the mic, his shaggy dark hair covering his forehead and part of his cheeks. “One, two, three—” he counted, and they started off into the music, the same songs they’d done all tour.</p><p> </p><p>Rey tapped her foot and wrote a few notes about the rehearsal, since she hadn’t gotten a chance to see this yet: someone would call for a cut and correct a movement, or a bad chord, and it was mostly Kylo, who seemed to be a massive perfectionist. He adjusted Trix’s footing or told Victor to take three fewer steps across the stage while Trix fixed chord progressions and beats.</p><p> </p><p>“You know who his grandfather was, don’t you?” asked Phasma so quietly that Rey almost jumped in her seat. She hadn’t even heard the woman sneak up, and that was amazing: Phasma was six foot something and built like a tank. </p><p> </p><p>“No,” said Rey honestly.</p><p> </p><p>The blond woman arched a brow. “Really? I’m not surprised. You’re a younger generation. You really have never heard of Vader?”</p><p> </p><p>Rey frowned. What did Vader have to do with Kylo Ren and KORE? “That celebrity from the sixties? Yeah, who hasn’t? He broke every world record in the book for going platinum so fast. Wasn’t he Polish or something?”</p><p> </p><p>Phasma chuckled as Umar called for a cut and fiddled with his amplifier. “No. He was actually Canadian. He was the brainchild of Empire Records— their most successful artist, and one of the most successful artists of all time. They pulled him from some obscure indie label that went under a year later and transformed him into… a star. The perfect rockstar. Faceless, identity-less, operating under a stage name. Gave Elvis a run for his money, raked in the European crowd. He practically made the label what it is today with the profit he brought them.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you’re saying… that was Kylo’s grandfather?” said Rey, fascinated.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. You are, of course, encouraged to drop that into your article. Snoke will be delighted. The public loves nothing more than a happy family story. Then again, maybe not— the last thing you want your faceless, perfect star to be is <em> human. </em>” Phasma’s lip curled. “Anyway. Where was I? Oh. Happy family stories. Yes. Vader had met a girl when he was young, and reconnected with her on the way up to fame— by that time she was working in DC, very bright, in politics, running for local office. They had to keep their relationship—even their marriage—a secret for the sake of both their careers, as I’m sure you can understand.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey felt a chill go up her arms. “Yes,” she said flatly. Who in 1960s DC would vote for or work with anyone married to a heavy metal rock star? She could recall the old covers of magazines with Vader on them, wearing all black: a tall, broad man with a helmet like an insect’s head, like something out of science fiction. Nobody had ever known what he looked like. </p><p> </p><p>“So she got pregnant,” said Phasma, eyes fixed on Kylo as he called out for the band to take it from the top again. Music filled the stadium, and Phasma had to lean closer to Rey. She smelled like mint and metal. “And he wasn’t in a good place at the time, either. Paranoid. He’d done plenty of drugs in his time— after all, it was the sixties— and his manager, the old CRE, was overbearing and put all kinds of shit in his head about not being able to trust anyone but the company, the people connected to it. There was… an incident.”</p><p> </p><p>“What kind of incident?” Rey asked. </p><p> </p><p>Phasma’s eyes slid over to Rey. “His wife was eight months pregnant. She went to his house in California to check on him because she had become worried about his behavior— increasingly erratic. His closest friend, his stage manager, who knew they were secretly married, drove her there. Vader became convinced she was cheating on him with his stage manager— his only friend at that point, really— and strangled her in the kitchen. The stage manager got into a fight with him as his wife lay there with a swelling windpipe, and it ended with— well. Not to get too into the nitty gritty, but Vader was bailed out of jail and evaded his murder charge with the help of Empire’s extensive collection of lawyers. Kenobi— the stage manager— went to jail for assault, and Vader’s wife unfortunately passed away in the hospital after giving birth to twins. Vader himself released another two albums, but the damage was done. He died with nothing.”</p><p> </p><p>“So… one of those twins is Kylo Ren’s…” <em>Father? Mother?</em></p><p> </p><p>“Don’t push your luck,” said Phasma, shooting her an icy look. “Parent, yes. You won’t find anything in public records, however. Turned out that Padme’s will had been written already, and if something had happened to her, she wanted full custody given to Kenobi. He was released in the legal kerfluffle that followed, and the babies were adopted out. Closed adoptions. Nobody knew who adopted them or how, but it was suspected by plenty of people that at least one of the kids went to a couple that she’d been close with in the Senate who were known to be having problems conceiving.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey fought to contain her curiosity. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>Phasme leaned in close again. “Relationships don’t work when one of the people is involved in this industry,” she said softly. “It asks too much of you. It asks your whole life, every spare amount of energy you have, and it will chew you up and spit you out and maim you if you slip even a fraction of an inch. Do you understand me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Rey said, meeting her gaze even as shame burned her cheeks: how the fuck did she <em> know? </em></p><p> </p><p>“Kylo might be able to pull a blindfold over Hux’s eyes,” continued Phasma, eyes like ice, “but Hux… he’s vicious. Average, and thinks he’s brilliant. A man like that’s dangerous. I’m not an idiot, however. Don’t go near Kylo Ren again, not for the rest of this trip.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hux isn’t coming back soon, is he?” asked Rey, trying to contain the nausea rising in her belly. She might be able to handle never speaking to Kylo again if it meant Hux was out of the picture.</p><p> </p><p>The other woman sighed. “Possibly Phoenix if he can catch a flight. They want him to stay another week because of the stitches, but he’s stubborn as a mule and twice as ugly. He absolutely won’t miss the big event in LA after they perform at the Allegiant. That obnoxious fundraiser thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fundraiser?” echoed Rey, baffled.</p><p> </p><p>Phasma chuckled. “Oh, god. Nobody told you, did they? Don’t worry. You can come, obviously. We’ll find you something to wear. Everyone’s having custom shit done by all these designers I can’t pronounce. It’ll look like something out of the Met Gala. The theme’s something like… god, is it science? Space? I’ll remember at some point.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” said Rey, feeling completely blindsided. “Right. Okay. Thank you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course.” Phasma stood and looked down at her. “And remember what I said. Stay away from Kylo. It’ll only end badly for both of you.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The show that night was, for lack of a better word, insane. Rey sat in the front row again with the press and watched as fireballs erupted, sparklers wheeled, and the crowd lost their shit, waving signs and screaming for the full three hours.</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t take her long to realize Kylo was back on the drums— two stops early, if she was counting right— and that by the end of the show, his hands were once more raw and bleeding through his gloves, red drip stains splattering the floor as he gripped his mic and belted out defiant lyrics into the space between him and forty thousand people. </p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t even hear the lyrics anymore at this point. It was just noise, pointless noise that pounded into her brain and left her dry and aching, like someone rescued from drowning and found on a beach. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Stay away from Kylo Ren. Stay away.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>When the lights came up and the show was over, Phasma came for her and hustled her backstage, where a stagehand was fumbling with a first-aid kit in the green room, trying to get a half-manic Kylo Ren to sit down so he could put band-aids on his fingers while Adam and Carter watched. “Please,” the poor guy was practically sobbing, “please, sir, just let me—”</p><p> </p><p>“No!” bellowed Kylo, wheeling around and clenching his fists. It squeezed blood out past the fabric, through his fingers like ripe fruit, dripping onto the carpet. “No, it’s fine, I’m <em> fine </em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” snapped Rey, irritated as she shoved her way forward, forgetting Phasma’s admonition. “You big drama queen. Sit down.”</p><p> </p><p>The stagehand gaped at her like he expected her to explode, but Kylo whipped his head around and laughed like it was a challenge. “Oh, <em> you. </em> Why don’t you <em> make </em> me, you little—”</p><p> </p><p>She marched over and shoved him toward the sofa. He hadn’t been expecting it, so when his knees hit the back of the seat he crumpled down into it, and Rey snatched the kit from the stagehand. “Thanks,” she told him. “I’ll handle this. You can go make sure the others are okay or something.”</p><p> </p><p>“S-sure,” stuttered the guy, and ran out while Adam and Carter took their helmets off and shook out their hair, cracking open bottles of Evian water. </p><p> </p><p>“Nice,” said Adam, grinning at Rey. She felt Kylo’s torso stiffen as she bent down to open the box, and wondered if it might not be worth it to flirt a little and really piss him off: who did he think he was, bullying the stagehands for trying to help?</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” she shot back, smiling as she tugged Kylo’s blood-sodden gloves off. He had gone passive, rigid and glaring as she tossed the things aside and turned his hands upright to assess the damage. The fresh new skin that had been growing over the old raw wounds on the insides of his hands and fingers had been rubbed away almost completely, and his hands were stained red from wrist to fingertip. “How many times does someone have to tell you to stay off the fucking drums until you listen?” she demanded, tearing open an alcohol wipe with her teeth and unfolding it. “This is going to hurt.”</p><p> </p><p>He twitched as she scrubbed out the welling, raw wounds. “At least four times,” he shot back, voice hoarse with restraint. Rey dug her finger in a little deeper, just to make him yelp. “Ow! Fuck, easy—”</p><p> </p><p>“If you’d been nice to the stagehand I would have been nicer to you!” she said sharply. </p><p> </p><p>Carter laughed. “Damn. We’ll have to hire you as a motivational speaker, Rey.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey had to grin at that, even as Kylo writhed under her, tears of pain squeezing out of his eyes. “Stop, or Phasma will think you’re serious.”</p><p> </p><p>Phasma cracked a faint grin. “Nothing in the world could ever make me think Carter’s serious about anything,” she said. “Except, you know. Hair upkeep.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey!”</p><p> </p><p>Kylo jerked in agony as Rey pressed a nonstick gauze pad to his worst wound, a raw area the size of a half-dollar on his palm, and slammed his knees together, trapping her leg between them. “<em> Fuck </em>,” he choked out, gritting his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>Okay, so maybe she needed to go a little easier on him. “Sorry,” she said, reaching for the gauze roll with the other hand and unwinding the end. “I’ll get it done quick.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sadist,” he managed, glaring at her with tear-wet eyes that squeezed shut as she began to wind his hand up.</p><p> </p><p>“Masochist,” she fired back. “What’s wrong with you, going back on the drums when you’re still—”</p><p> </p><p>“I wanted to <em> feel it </em> ,” he hissed under his breath so low that she knew it was for her ears alone. “Something. Anything. To get <em> you </em> out.”</p><p> </p><p>“You could probably do that without leaving a biohazard all over the goddamn stage,” she hissed back, and he flinched. Rey tightened the bandage and went for another one. Her fingers were stained red, and it smelled like iron so close to him. She taped the next one down on his other palm, then wound up his fingers. “Keep your hands elevated and you can ice them back at the hotel.”</p><p> </p><p>Trix burst through the door, advancing on Kylo with all the force of a hurricane. “You have to stop fucking <em> doing this!” </em> she shouted, red with fury under her smeared white facepaint. “You goddamn fucking <em> diva— </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Trix, lower your voice,” said Phasma, stepping forward. Defusing things was not her forte: that had been Hux’s specialty. “We don’t need a scene.”</p><p> </p><p>Trix whirled on her. “A scene? A <em> scene </em> ? He’s bleeding all over the place like some kind of freak show and I’m trying to— I’m out there slipping in it, this is <em> disgusting, </em> I can’t work like this, Victor fell and twisted his ankle, Kylo never fucking considers anyone else when he’s having a manic episode like th—”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you!” shouted Kylo, jerking to his feet and almost knocking Rey off her seat. His face was twisted in livid rage. “<em> Fuck </em> you, I’m the goddamn frontrunner and I can do what I fucking want—”</p><p> </p><p>“Kylo, <em> stop </em>—” Carter tried, but Adam pulled them back, watching with careful eyes as Kate and Umar came in, followed by a very sweaty Victor. </p><p> </p><p>“Trix, Trix, don’t, don’t make a big deal out of—” Kate tried, holding her hands up like she was trying to shield them both. “It’s <em> fine, </em>Victor’s ankle is okay—”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not okay, he <em> fell!” </em> Trix bellowed, furious. “I’m fucking sick, I’m <em> so sick </em> of you all smoothing shit over because it’s Kylo Ren, the magnificent fucking diva, and god forbid we piss him off!” She whirled on Kylo and jabbed her finger into his face. “You don’t give a fuck about anyone else in the band. You don’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not true,” Kylo began, seething, but she cut him off. </p><p> </p><p>“And the Europe tour was one thing with the fucking gang of drug dealers, and the snake, and the sword— I can handle that. But I’m not going to watch this band fall apart because you can’t get your fucking shit together!”</p><p> </p><p><em> “Beatrix, stop—” </em> shouted Victor in alarm, just as Kylo snatched up his own phone and hurled it at the concrete wall, where it shattered into glass and metal shards. He let out a furious roar and whirled back on Trix, who, to her credit, didn’t back down an inch as she came face to face with him. </p><p> </p><p>“Someone get me <em> sedatives, </em>” snapped Phasma, blue eyes gone huge. “Fuck—”</p><p> </p><p>“All of you are <em> all I fucking have, </em> and it’s all fucking <em> fake! </em> ” screamed Kylo, making Phasma go about as pale as milk. “Fuck you! You can eat shit, go tell Snoke, go fuck yourself, I don’t <em> care </em> what you do!” He turned and slammed his hands into the wall in a crazed, violent gesture, bleeding through his bandages and leaving blood smeared on the concrete as he punctuated each blow with a screamed word. “Maybe if I <em> break </em> my fucking <em> hands </em> you’ll <em> all </em> be fucking <em> happy </em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop!” Rey yelled, scrambling to reach him before Mitaka, who had come running in with Hux’s briefcase, could. “Kylo, stop, <em> stop </em> —” He was sobbing by the time she dragged him away from the blood-smeared wall by his bicep, remnants of makeup streaked down his face. Rey turned on Trix, who looked thin-lipped and resolute. “What is wrong with <em> all of you? </em> ” she shouted. “You’re all being dicks to each other and this is <em> not </em> a way to, to foster a team relationship—”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, and you’d know all about fostering <em> relationships, </em>” said Trix, eyes as cold as a glacier. “We know he went to your fucking room in Cheyenne.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey’s heart choked her in her throat. Phasma was <em> right there, </em> and said nothing. “Yes. To fucking <em> talk. </em> ” <em> Don’t give it away, don’t do it. </em>“He came in to talk to me about what happened in Dallas and apologize for dragging me out of the goddamn green room while he was high off his ass on benzedrine—”</p><p> </p><p>“Bullshit,” snapped Trix. “Bull fucking shit. You expect me to believe he’s not fucking you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, get fucked,” growled Kylo, raising his head before Rey could stammer out what was sure to be an unconvincing lie. “Who the fuck— do you really think a<em> journalist </em> is into some strung out, dirty moron like me?” His voice caught in his throat, and Rey could almost sense the flood of emotion threatening to break through, but he controlled it and pressed on. “I’m a fucking... you’re right. I’m an asshole diva. I have no fucking self control and I know I’m fucked up and I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>Trix’s face wavered as she took a step forward. “You’ve never apologized for anything in your life,” she said, shocked. “If I’m wrong, then… sorry. Just… Jesus, Kylo. Take fucking <em> care </em> of yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think,” said Mitaka very carefully from the door, “we should all go back to the hotel very quietly and take good hot long showers. And a few Valium.”</p><p> </p><p>“That sounds like a plan to me,” said Carter, skirting past him to get to the bus.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They were staying at the Monaco, which had been recently renovated, as the bellhop proudly told them, and Rey made her way to her room, feeling like she’d aged a hundred years in a day. Trix’s room was just across the hall, and it didn’t seem like anyone had bugged the building yet, so she showered, changed, and headed across to Trix’s room, knocking politely and waiting.</p><p> </p><p>Trix opened the door in silk loungewear. “Oh,” she said, looking at Rey, who felt immediately small and dumpy in her glasses, T-shirt, and printed flannel pants. “Come in. I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey followed her into a room identical to hers and sat down on the sofa without preamble. “Who told you Kylo went to my room?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>Trix sighed deeply and crossed the room, throwing a handful of ice into her mouth and crunching it loudly. “Nothing better after a show,” she said, swallowing. “Mmm.”</p><p> </p><p>“Trix,” said Rey as firmly as she could.</p><p> </p><p>“Mitaka,” said Trix, sounding bored as she sat down on the other sofa. “He had a camera set up outside his door, down the hall from yours.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey exhaled low and long. “And you didn’t think maybe he was exaggerating to cause infighting?”</p><p> </p><p>She lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “I didn’t care. I was pissed. And then this stunt again with the blood… I think Kylo likes the attention, to tell you the truth. Hates for people to know he does, but can’t live without it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Forget about Kylo for two seconds,” said Rey in a tone that made Trix whip her head around and stare at her. “Look. You can’t let these First Order people drive wedges between you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, honey. Tell me something I don’t know.” Trix laughed, but it wasn’t a humorous sound at all. “I’m tired, Rey. I’m so tired of trying to fight these assholes. It’s been years of this shit. I’m tired.”</p><p> </p><p>Rey shook her head. “They know if you’re fighting each other and suspecting each other of being the favorites, you’ll never team up and take them down.”</p><p> </p><p>“We can’t take them down,” said Trix.</p><p> </p><p>“Then why are they so hell bent on keeping you apart from each other?” demanded Rey, and Trix, for once, had no answer. “Think about it. You could, you could gang up, compare notes, pool your money and get a lawyer to get you out of this mess.”</p><p> </p><p>Trix’s face went cool and blank. “We can’t get lawyers,” she said. “We’re here until the contract runs out. That’s the end of it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’m not going to let you give up,” said Rey hotly, standing up. “There has to be a way, so I’m not.” And with that, she whirled on her heel and left Trix sitting there with her mouth open as she stormed back into her own hotel room and shut the door tight.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Their stay in Denver was supposed to be three days, three shows: the last show at Red Rocks. Rey spent the whole first night frantically researching as much as she could find online. <em> I have to check in with Holdo, </em> she thought dimly a few times between pages and pages of contract law, but it all faded away as she lay on her back, exhausted. <em> Just a few minutes... </em></p><p> </p><p>Someone knocked on her door. She jerked awake in bright sunlight, startled, and realized she’d fallen asleep with her glasses on. <em> Shit </em>, she thought, disoriented, and slid out of bed as the knocking continued. “I’m coming! I’m coming!” She yanked the door wide open and came face-to-face with Umar, who looked extremely on edge. “What—?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey!” he hissed under his breath. “Kylo isn’t in there?”</p><p> </p><p>“What? No. Why?”</p><p> </p><p>Umar shouldered his way past her into her room, looking around the place, even in the bathroom and under her bed. “He's missing," he said in a low, tense voice. "He did this in Budapest for twenty-four hours last year and we thought he’d been kidnapped by the mob or something. You didn’t see him last night?”</p><p> </p><p>Rey followed him in, horrified. “No! I— we all left the stadium after that blowup. Then I went to talk to Trix when we got back here— I think it was at, like, ten or—”</p><p> </p><p>“It was at 10:18 and you left the room at 10:24,” said Umar. “We checked the cameras already. If Phasma finds out, she’ll have a big argument with Mitaka over whether or not we should send the police out to look for him and cause a huge manhunt.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you can’t call him,” said Rey, realizing, “because he broke his phone last night. Oh, fuck.” </p><p> </p><p>“Do you have any idea where he might be?” asked Umar, eyes gone dark and hard. “You have to tell us, this is <em> vital </em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s a six foot four man with bandages on his hands and a very distinctive face. I don’t think he’ll be that hard to find.” Rey’s mind was racing: where did a man like Kylo Ren go when it was too much?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wish I was in sunlight. Or a garden. I like gardens. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Is there, is there maybe a garden anywhere nearby?” she asked, jerking up and running for her clothes. Umar stood there gaping at her, but turned his back to give her privacy as she changed into khaki shorts and a white T-shirt. “Like, maybe a, a, I don’t know—rose garden or a—”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s the Botanic Gardens, it’s like a ten minute drive from here and—”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s it,” said Rey, absolutely certain as she jammed her shoes on. “I’ll find it, I have a phone.”</p><p> </p><p>“How do you know where—”</p><p> </p><p>“I just <em> do, </em> okay?” she said, grabbing her purse and her keys. “I’ll call— I’ll call one of you, I know I have Carter’s number. Just stay here.” Rey hurried out the door, took the elevator down to the lobby, and ran out into the summer sunlight, screening her eyes as she tapped the location of the gardens into her phone.</p><p> </p><p>It was an hour’s walk. <em> Should I call an Uber? A taxi? </em> Rey looked up and down the street, and gave up: the street was busy, and she didn’t think anyone would stop for her. <em> Walking it is. </em> She started to walk down 17th, and ignored the hot sun beating down on her head.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>She got to the Botanical Gardens at noon. Her shoulders were aching and her feet hurt, and she wanted a drink more than anything, so when she got in and made her way down the paths into the cool shade, she stopped at a vending machine to get a bottle of water. Nothing tasted as good as the cold water sliding down her throat, and she chugged half of it before wiping her forehead and continuing on down the paths, looking for Kylo.</p><p> </p><p>There were so many fucking gardens. This place was huge, and he could be in any one of them. Rey decided to do a circuit as best she could, and felt almost sorry that she couldn’t stop in every garden there— they were all gorgeous and lush and teeming with people admiring the foliage and the flowers. </p><p> </p><p>Rey got through what seemed like an infinity of gardens before finally crossing the Steppe Garden and walking into Shady Lane, which was, true to its name, shady and cool as she hurried down the path. <em> Maybe he’s in here, </em>she thought, and turned down a lane into an almost English-looking garden with a greenhouse, and trees overhead, and a bench in the middle of a hundred summer flowers on a circular brick-paved walkway.</p><p> </p><p>On the bench sat a large, dark-haired man with his elbows on his knees, his hands bandaged, staring out into the greenery with a meditative expression. He was alone, wearing jeans, boots, and a grungy-looking white T-shirt, sunburned across the high points of his face already, and Rey knew him immediately as she stood across from him, the other people in the garden reduced to only noise and motion. He looked up and saw her, and recognition flashed in his eyes before he looked away, some indefinable expression on his long, sullen face.</p><p> </p><p>Rey walked over to him and sat on the bench beside him, sighing in exhaustion. Neither of them spoke for a minute, listening to the buzz of the insects and the wind that moved the trees overhead and lifted sweaty strands of hair off their necks, their cheeks, their faces. </p><p> </p><p>“So,” said Kylo, and he sounded more exhausted than Rey felt. “You found me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yep,” said Rey, glancing over at him. She didn’t offer any more information than that.</p><p> </p><p>He sighed. “They shouldn’t have sent you. That’s not your job.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nobody sent me. I volunteered.” Rey re-tied her ponytail into something slightly more fit for public sight and turned to look at him full on. The redness under his eyes spoke of a sleepless night. “You look terrible.”</p><p> </p><p>“You… volunteered?” Kylo echoed, lost. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes. I… when we were in Dallas, you mentioned… liking gardens. I thought— well, I was right. So.” Rey rubbed her nose self-consciously. </p><p> </p><p>“I do like them,” he said listlessly, looking at the flowers. “They’re… soothing. Calming. I can… kind of find myself when I’m in them. Or I used to. I don’t… I don’t know who I am anymore, but I still like them, I guess. I used to have dreams… blue and white flowers. I don’t know.” He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. “Why did you volunteer?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because—” said Rey, confused, “I want you to— I wanted to make sure you were okay.”</p><p> </p><p>He looked at her with a more critical expression. “Did you <em> walk </em> here?”</p><p> </p><p>She stiffened. “Yes. Did you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Part of the way this morning. I… kind of just wandered out of the hotel, I think. It’s hard to explain.” He shifted in his seat, both big hands clasping together in his lap. “Um, I think I kind of snapped out of it up on East 18th, and grabbed a taxi to take me here. It felt right.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Rey wiped her forehead. “I didn’t even stop to call a cab or an Uber or anything. I was—” <em> worried, </em>she finished in her mind, and bit it off: he didn’t need to hear that.</p><p> </p><p>But Kylo was leaning toward her, face slightly open, eyebrows lifted. “You… just ran out to find me?” he asked, voice slightly shaky.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she said, blinking at him. </p><p> </p><p>“You <em> walked </em> through fifty blocks of a city you’ve never been in in the middle of the summer to find <em> me, </em>” he said flatly, like he couldn’t grasp why.</p><p> </p><p>“Y...yes,” Rey said again, more hesitantly as he leaned in closer, like he was trying to search out the truth under her skin.</p><p> </p><p>“Why?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“I told you, I wanted to make sure you were okay, and Phasma can’t find out or Umar said she’ll send out the cops, and—”</p><p> </p><p>“Rey,” whispered Kylo, very softly, and she blinked, so close to his face that she could smell him: sweat, unwashed body, faint leather. “Tell me,” he pleaded, and she saw the desperation in his eyes: was it to just have someone tell him they cared when he knew they weren’t being paid to do it? Forced to? Was it a power play, to make her say it? Rey didn’t care.</p><p> </p><p>“You know why,” she whispered, and saying it out in the open like this— unthinkable. But nobody knew who they were: Rey in her sweaty shirt and unkempt hair, glasses— Kylo with his T-shirt and jeans. They could have been anyone to an uninterested viewer. A couple, sitting together on a bench: anybody.</p><p> </p><p>“Say it,” he begged, eyes flickering all over her face.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head: to talk about this would be to make this, whatever it was, real. No taking it back. “I can’t, Kylo, I can’t—”</p><p> </p><p>“Then show me,” said Kylo, jaw gone hard and tense, throat bobbing as he swallowed.</p><p> </p><p>“Show you,” Rey echoed, and reached for his hand, still bandaged, huge and warm under her fingers. “Okay.” Her other hand found its way to his cheek, stroking the hair off his skin carefully.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey,” he said hoarsely, and she cut him off by closing the space between them and pressing her mouth to his in a warm, soft rush that instantly narrowed down all her focus to the mouth on hers and the body pressed close. His free hand circled around her back, clinging to her by the shoulder, crushing her close like he’d forgotten they were in public, and his mouth moved like he was trying to devour hers whole.</p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t help but let out a little moan as his hand slipped up her arm to her shoulder, and broke the kiss to breathe, panting. “There,” she said, humiliated at her own unprofessionalism. “Did I show you?”</p><p> </p><p>He looked drunk, reeling, stunned: lips wet and swollen, eyes wet and huge. “Yeah,” he breathed, and stole a look at their surroundings. Nobody was giving them sideways looks at all: Denver, after all, was a pretty chill city. “I don’t… I don’t want to go back,” he confessed, looking back at her. “Not to the hotel. Not to any of it. I want to stay here. With you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good plan. We can live in the greenhouse back there,” said Rey, her throat choking up with sudden emotion. “Never come out. Maybe we can be a live-in exhibit for the gardens. Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” said Kylo, and wiped his eyes. “Fuck me. Do we have to go right now?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. We can wait. Let me text Carter and tell everyone I found you, but I’ll say… I’ll say you need some time to calm down.” Rey took her phone out and opened her text window, tapping away. “I can buy some time.” </p><p> </p><p>“They think you’re the only one who can calm me down,” said Kylo, looking out over to where the oak grove rested on the other side of the walkway, green and quiet and inviting. Rey pressed <em> send </em> and looked back up at him. </p><p> </p><p>“Am I?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>He sighed heavily. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I don’t trust the others. And they don’t trust me. Not really. I don’t even think we like each other that much.”</p><p> </p><p>“And who’s fault is that?” asked Rey. “Hux was constantly driving you all apart from the inside, making you suspect each other.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” said Kylo, turning to look at her, “but you… you’re kind of the wild card here, aren’t you? He can’t get into <em> your </em> head.”</p><p> </p><p>“I could lose my job,” she said, shaking her head. “My credentials, my reputation…”</p><p> </p><p>“But you still came after me,” he mused, leaning back slightly against the bench. “Didn’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I did.” Rey sighed deeply and handed him her water bottle. “Here. You look like you could use a cold drink.”</p><p> </p><p>He took it, unscrewed it, and lifted it to his mouth, throat swelling as he gulped down most of it. “Thanks,” he said, handing it back to her and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “There’s a song for you, huh?” Kylo started humming. “<em> Mm, mm, mmm. Trying to scream, trying to shout, it’ll rip up my life from the inside out but I’m still coming after you, coming after you.”  </em></p><p> </p><p>Rey frowned and tilted her head. “That's flat,” she corrected absently, and sang in a descending, then ascending little tune: <em> trying to scream, trying to shout, ripping me up from the inside out, but I’m coming after you, coming after you. </em></p><p> </p><p>Kylo gave her a funny look. “Can you harmonize?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Do it to this,” he said, and sang what she’d sung in the tune she’d corrected, while Rey let her voice drop into a softer alto, picking out the right harmony to the music. </p><p> </p><p><em> I’m coming after you, coming after you. </em> It was nothing like the screaming, furious lyrics KORE sang so often, and she was struck by the tone his voice took when he sang like this: a rough mix between a tenor and a baritone. Plaintive, warm, gentle.</p><p> </p><p>Their voices trailed off, and Kylo gave her a long, searching look. “That was… <em> good, </em>” he said. “You made that up in your head?”</p><p> </p><p>“I… make up little tunes. Sometimes. Still.” She flushed and looked away. “Don’t make fun of me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Never,” he told her, wiping his face with the back of his bandaged hand. “I guess… we should go. I just realized I never showered last night. I’m disgusting.” He wrinkled his nose.</p><p> </p><p>“We can wait for another minute,” Rey told him. “And you’re not disgusting. You just got distracted. It happens.” Her phone buzzed, and she looked down to see a text from Carter: <em> u need a ride back? </em> She texted back: <em> We got it, dont worry. See you soon. </em></p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t distracted. I was drunk.” Kylo hung his head, as if he was ashamed. “And… high. At the same time.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not the first person in the world who’s had substance abuse issues,” said Rey gently. </p><p> </p><p>“Trix knew I went to your room,” he said after a moment, toneless and soft.</p><p> </p><p>Rey sighed. So this was where the conversation was going. “Yeah, because Mitaka told her. He had a camera set up outside his door and caught you. Nobody has any idea it was anything other than talking about something. Don’t freak out.”</p><p> </p><p>“If they <em> know </em>,” Kylo began, voice pitching into something urgent and dark, “if they find out, I… I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do,” he finished, sounding lost and hopeless.</p><p> </p><p>“Nobody’s going to know. Besides, you’re not even breaking your contract. We didn’t— it’s not like we—” Rey blushed, fighting to control her voice. “We’re not dating.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not how Snoke’s going to see it,” he replied, hanging his head as his fist clenched in his lap. “He’s going to say it was sexual contact and compromises the—”</p><p> </p><p>“Snoke’s not going to see anything because he’s not going to find out. We’re not—we’re not going to do it again, and we’re not going to get caught together in any kind of compromising— you know. It’ll be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“We literally just <em> kissed </em> in a public park,” said Kylo, disbelief permeating his voice. </p><p> </p><p>Rey sighed. “Yes, and nobody here knows who the hell you are. So. It’s fine.”</p><p> </p><p>He forced out a choked little laugh “You know, sometimes… I think about what it would be like to just <em> not </em>have Snoke constantly hovering on every aspect of my life, fucking with my head and controlling everything I do, and— and I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I didn’t have him, or First Order, or— isn’t that fucked up? I can’t even conceive of a life without someone controlling me. It’s like… it’s like he’s always been there. Even though I know he hasn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you… maybe kind of scared about what it would mean to be free?” Rey prodded. This was as far as she’d ever gotten, really into the heart of who Kylo Ren was, and she had to wonder if it wasn’t because they were away from everyone else. </p><p> </p><p>“Scared,” he repeated, looking back at her for a moment. “Yeah. A little.” He raised a hand to scrub his greasy hair out of his eyes. “Which is fucking embarrassing, isn’t it? Scared. I’m almost thirty. You were right. I haven’t grown up, I’m still wearing fucking costumes on a stage.”</p><p> </p><p>“That— I was being mean when I said that,” Rey told him. “I didn’t know you then like I do now. I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be sorry for being right,” he said, and let out a deep sigh. “I guess we have to go at some point. God, it’s hot.”</p><p> </p><p>“Want my hair tie?” Rey undid her ponytail and handed him the elastic. “It’ll get the hair off your neck, at least.”</p><p> </p><p>He took it and raked his hair into a sloppy little bun, tying it securely in place. “Thanks,” he said, and she had to smile: his ears were <em> huge </em> set free of their curtain of dark hair, curving outward like a pair of half-moons on the sides of his head. He gave her a nervous little look. “I don’t… do you, could I kiss you again? Before we have to—”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Sure. I— if you, do you want to—”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, <em> yeah </em>,” he said, way too quickly, and cleared his throat, giving her a worried look. “I mean. Yes. If you want to—”</p><p> </p><p>Rey had to smile. “You can kiss me if you want to. I won’t run away.”</p><p> </p><p>“Last one,” he said, almost to himself as he looked at her mouth with an intensity that almost worried her. “Okay.” And Kylo leaned in again, careful in a way she’d never felt him be, his hand clumsily nudging past her hair to cup the base of her head as his mouth pressed against hers, his teeth nipping into her lip, his tongue swiping softly along the borders of her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>It was over too soon. He pulled away, slow and warm, and Rey blinked, dizzy in the heat. Her body was craving more, craving <em> him, </em> and she fought to get hold of herself: <em> it’s just a kiss, you moron, don’t lose it, you can’t do this again. </em>“We should… call an Uber or something,” she panted, gazing up at him.</p><p> </p><p>His face was flushed, and somehow Rey didn’t think it was from the outside temperatures. “Uh,” he said, staring at her. “Right. Yeah. Uber. Hotel. I can give you my, uh, account information and you can download the app. It’s. Not a problem.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” she said, quickly avoiding his eyes as she fumbled for her phone and tried to stop her heart from pounding like a bass drum. “Thanks.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The ride back to the hotel was too short. Rey felt like she’d barely had time to acclimate to the AC before they were stepping out of the car at the Monaco, thanking the driver, and stepping out to a visibly relieved Carter and a furious-looking Trix waiting for them inthe shadow of the doors. </p><p> </p><p>“What the <em> hell </em>—” began Trix, but Kylo stopped her with a look.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m tired,” he said coldly. “I haven’t showered in two days, I’m starving, and I want to fix at least two of those before you lay into me about where I went.”</p><p> </p><p>Carter looked at Rey incredulously. “Mitaka’s out getting him a new phone,” they stage-whispered, falling into step alongside Rey as all of them headed in. “Is he okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s fine,” said Rey. “He had… I guess, like, a dissociative episode or something. He said he was wandering down the street before he realized where he was and then he got a ride to the Botanic Gardens.”</p><p> </p><p>Carter sighed. “Jesus. We have got to all stop doing so many fucking drugs.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah? Tell that to Hux,” said Rey, which made Carter laugh. “Seriously! It’s going to fuck you all up in the long run.”</p><p> </p><p>“Believe me, we know,” said Trix coolly as they stepped into the elevator. “Half my brain cells are probably dead by this point. I’m amazed Kylo still has a nose.”</p><p> </p><p>“Very funny,” Kylo deadpanned. “You should really be shocked about the state of my liver. Astounding that it’s still functional.”</p><p> </p><p>Trix cracked a smile as Rey rubbed the bridge of her nose. “What time do we need to be at the arena?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Same as yesterday, I think. Four? Which gives us four hours.” Carter looked over at Kylo. “You need to shower and get food and sleep as much as you can. I’m not volunteering for the Wearing Kylo Ren’s Costume slot today.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not even tall enough to be convincing about it,” Kylo said, the corner of his mouth lifting. The elevator stopped, and they piled out into the hall and split up, Kylo heading down to his room with Carter and Trix veering left with Rey to go to theirs. </p><p> </p><p>Rey hesitated at her door as she fiddled with the lock, Carter and Trix disappearing into their rooms. Kylo was motionless, waiting at his own door down the hallway, and she stole a look at him out of the corner of her eyes. He was just… watching her. Looking at her, with a yearning in his eyes that she desperately hoped any cameras couldn’t pick up, and she knew what he wanted: for her to go to him, to hold him, be careful and soft with him in the way she now knew he would never let anyone else be. </p><p> </p><p><em> Come here, </em> she could almost hear him silently begging. <em> Come to me.  </em></p><p> </p><p>But they couldn’t do it again, not now, not ever. Not a chance in hell, if she was going to focus on getting this legal shit figured out for them. Rey unlocked her door and stepped into her room without looking at him, and let it shut firmly, the lock snicking into place in a tiny sound of finality.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. X</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you know the drill with references to drugs and alcohol by now xx love ya</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kylo turned the water on as hot as it could go and stood under it for ten full minutes before he even started scrubbing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wash it all off me, wash me clean. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He scrubbed his hair three times and soaped up a cloth, washing himself from head to toe twice before he felt like a human being again. Then he turned the water as cold as he could get it and stood under the showerhead until his lips went numb before he stepped out and dried his hair, looking at the hair tie he had carefully disentangled and set on the sink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some of his own near-black hair was stuck in the elastic, but there were other strands in it, too: medium brown, glossy where the bathroom lights hit it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rey’s hair, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he knew, and fought the urge to snatch up the strands and pore over them like a miser counting gold. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her voice had been… </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span>: pure and strong and unafraid, warm and full. He wanted to hear that voice push its limits, to see her truly stretch her wings and try again— </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, you’ll drag her down with you, you’ll dirty her up and get her fucked up like you are—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo tossed the towel aside and finger-combed his hair out of his face, looking at himself in the mirror. Broad chest, thick arms, thick waist and broad thighs: he was no underwear model, but maybe Rey liked men who had a little more padding than someone with three percent body fat. Not much body hair, which he’d never heard anybody complaining about. Plenty of weird freckles and moles, but he’d had those since he was a kid. At least he’d grown out of the acne. Everything from the neck up had always been his worst part, he thought. Huge, ugly ears. Big, busted nose, a too-thick mouth that never looked happy, a weak, crooked jawline and a lopsided chin. The whole right side of his face, actually, was proportioned weird: smaller and higher set than anything on the left. The longer he looked, the worse it got. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey definitely wasn’t into men who looked like him; that kiss had been something he’d asked for, not something he’d deserved. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Easter Island head, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she had called him derisively once, and he’d tried to hide how badly that had stung him at the time by acting cavalier. Like he hadn’t cared. Like it hadn't echoed in his mind every day of this fucking tour. But he cared, he cared so badly about what Rey thought that it physically hurt sometimes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, she wasn’t into him... but... </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo avoided the mirror and dried the rest of his body off as his mind raced. But she </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted him, hadn’t she? That night in Cheyenne that they had both tried to pretend hadn’t happened: Rey in his lap, begging for his fingers, her face as she had come on his hand and shook, his cock buried inside her and she’d cried </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, yes, yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>… Kylo was almost sure at this point her approval was about eight times more addicting than anything Hux could pull out of that bag of his.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His dick swelled up, hard and painfully throbbing at the memory, and he groaned. He was too fucking tired to jack off right now, too tired and hungry, and he tried his best to ignore his raging erection as he wolfed down the food in his minifridge left by the concierge: a charcuterie board. He barely tasted it. He wanted Rey. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fine,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought angrily at his own cock, </span>
  <em>
    <span>just you fucking wait when we can’t finish. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kylo popped the last grape in his mouth and split it between his teeth as he loosely fisted himself, grunting slightly at the friction and the sensation as his fingers slid up and down his cock. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, letting his thoughts slip off into wherever they wanted to go, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah, Rey, I’ll give you my mouth if you want it… fuck, Rey’s pussy is so warm, warm and soft and wet. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He had a mental image of Rey to work with now: Rey without her underwear, bouncing up and down in his lap as her lips opened to gasp his name and his hands split her open between her legs, his fingers clutched in that smooth, snug, soaking wet heat...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo’s orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks, knocking his breath out of his lungs as the aftershocks of release rippled through him. He fell back onto the mattress and gulped for air, his cum-splattered hand resting on his chest and the sweet taste of grapes in his mouth. “Fuck,” he said weakly, eyes fluttering shut. If Rey was there, he thought, she’d curl up around him, and clean him up, and hold him, and he’d let her do whatever she wanted to him. Anything. Anything at all. Even love him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let me… let you love me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, in a flash of post-orgasmic clarity, and sat up. That was a good line. Alliterative, and simple— but his phone was smashed to pieces, and he didn’t have his notes. The memory stung: he’d lost his private notes to his Cloud account controlled and owned by Snoke, the ones half-encoded so nobody thought they were anything more than a tormented star’s musings, but he could write this out on paper if he wanted to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo staggered up and went to the bathroom, washed himself clean again, and freshened up before coming back out, changing into regular clothes, and finding a piece of hotel stationery and a pen. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Snoke sure can’t fucking track this,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, and shuddered at his own outright defiance… but wasn’t that his fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>brand?</span>
  </em>
  <span> KORE’s brand? Defying authority? Saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck you</span>
  </em>
  <span> to the bosses, to whatever power structure their audience could superimpose onto their lyrics? What good was a band built on a value if they didn’t bother to </span>
  <em>
    <span>embody</span>
  </em>
  <span> those values?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scribbled down in block print: </span>
  <em>
    <span>let me let you love me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and then, as an afterthought, the words she’d sung to him in the garden. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Trying to scream, trying to shout, ripping me up from the inside out but I’m coming after you, coming after you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>After that, the words just started flowing, the tune materializing inside his head, and he wrote frantically, forgetting sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ruin me, murder me, set me aflame</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll love it as long as you’re saying my name<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Let you kill me with your love<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Let me let you love me, it’s our fate<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Will you let me let you love me, baby?<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>‘Cause love is the only thing stronger than hate</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m trying to scream, trying to shout, this is ripping me apart from the inside out <br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>but I’m coming after you, I swear I’m coming after you<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>And the shit we both harbor, it’s all getting harder, I know, I know, <br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>but what am I gonna do, <br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>without you, who am I going to be running to?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t come up with a second verse. That was fine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had help.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night, all of KORE was startled to see Kylo Ren rush backstage with a pile of loose papers, Rey Niima in tow and looking stricken as she scribbled on one piece, her glasses slipping off her nose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think he slept at all,” said Umar, watching in astonishment as the two of them had a hushed, frantic conversation by the extra speakers. “How is he even still on his feet? That’s, what— thirty hours without sleeping by now? Did he take something <em>else</em>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, he’s going to crash hard tonight,” said Victor, sounding tired already. “Just pray the sound guys have the backup lip-sync tracks in case Adam or Trix have to take over for him, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” asked Phasma, pointing at the situation by the speakers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Last minute… something,” said Umar, shrugging. “Don’t ask us. I gotta go get changed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Christ,” said the head of security, closing her eyes. “I don’t know how the hell Hux handles all this. Go change, then. I’ll figure this out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo was dotting out the musical notes frantically, peppering the handwritten sheet music with circles and lines and bars as Rey hummed the tune for him, both the melody and the harmony. “Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> you want to perform an original piece tonight?” she asked, gnawing at her bottom lip as he bent his head, scribbling. “It’s not really your style, is it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
    <span>This, </span>
  </em>
  <span>none of </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is my style,” he said, waving his free hand around without even looking up. “All this shit is cultivated by a fucking PR office and First Order. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” and he pointed to the paper, “is the first original thing I’ve written in years, and it’s with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But your audience, they won’t— they’ll be expecting, you know, roaring heavy death metal whatever, won’t they?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care what they expect anymore,” he said, eyes alight with excitement as he finished writing and glanced up at her, a smile flickering over his face. “There. All this needs is a backup vocalist, drums, a guitar, and a keyboard. I can get it to Trix and—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kylo,” said Phasma’s smooth, crisp voice, and Rey stiffened, turning in surprise to see the woman standing over them both. “Are you feeling all right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” said Kylo, staring right back at her. “Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because it looks like you’re about to divert from the set list,” continued Phasma. “The set list that was approved by corporate and Snoke himself for this tour.” Behind her, Trix and Kate were giving each other odd looks, listening in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“People drop original pieces on tour,” said Kylo firmly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“People who aren’t managed by First Order, maybe,” said Phasma. “And even if we did approve an original song, you’d need to send it to management for approval first, and have it cleared to be put on the next album, and this…” her cool blue eyes tracked across the paper, “...this looks like an acoustic </span>
  <em>
    <span>love song, </span>
  </em>
  <span>so I can tell you right now it’s not going to make the cut. Especially because you know full well the women don’t sing to hide their identities, and FOM is not going to allow you to sing a romantic duet with another man on stage.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kate crossed her arms. “Right,” she said under her breath behind Phasma, “they won’t let us do that, but they’ll welcome in rich assholes behind closed doors to come do whatever the fuck they want to us.” Phasma whipped her head around and opened her mouth, but was interrupted by Trix stepping forward as Kate scurried off through the door leading backstage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um,” Trix said, tilting her head and looking very hard at the paper, “actually, I think this might be a good winding-down song for after we do ‘Room On Fire’. It’s the same theme, you know, tying in the concept of standing with someone against the system—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” snapped Phasma, making Trix step back. “You’re not doing this song. That’s final. If I have to go get Hux’s bag from the bus and make sure you all comply on stage—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That won’t be necessary,” said Kylo, mouth turned into a thin pale line. “Unless you want a fight breaking out on stage again. You know how fun we all get when we’re high.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well. Just to ensure you listen,” snarled Phasma, and snatched the paper from his hands, crumpling up all the carefully-scribbled notes and lines and words and tearing them apart, then shoving the scraps into her pockets. “No more of this. Go get ready, for fuck’s sake. People are already finding their seats.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo’s face became a stony mask of indifference. “Fine,” he said blankly, and walked off, shoulders hunched as he disappeared through the door leading to the dressing rooms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey stood there, hands shaking. How </span>
  <em>
    <span>could she?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Phasma had just snatched the song right out of his hands and torn it up— and it wasn’t even all his song, either, it was hers, too. Her heart was pounding wildly, and Trix caught her by the elbow as Phasma, satisfied, turned away to go talk to someone else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” she whispered, eyes alight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” asked Rey.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other woman’s hand tightened on her arm. “Remember how you told me we should gang up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey’s heart threatened to choke her. “Uh. Yeah. But I meant, you know, in the legal sense—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. Fuck it.” Trix started walking, Rey hurrying along in that firm grip. “You’re right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> First Order. I haven’t seen Kylo that excited about anything in years. He was almost smiling, for God’s sake. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Smiling.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen that man smile about anything?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But, but, but—” Rey couldn’t think of a thing to say as Trix hustled her into her dressing room and shut the door. The room was warmly lit, and all Trix’s costumes were waiting on the rack, along with Kate, who turned around with two hands full of black clothes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you had the same idea,” she said brightly, and grinned at Trix, who returned the expression. “Great. You do her makeup. I’ll get her clothes. Everything made for you is going to be way too long on her.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey said, eyes feeling like they couldn’t get much wider as Trix headed to the makeup table for white foundation and red paint. “Makeup and clothes for </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re going on stage. You know the song— you helped write it, didn’t you? I saw you.” Trix wet a sponge with the ivory base and turned to Rey expectantly, sitting her down on the stool and smoothing it all over her cheeks. Rey sat there, stunned, and let her do it. “So. You can go out there and switch with Kate when they’re done doing ‘Room On Fire’ and sing—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not singing</span>
  </em>
  <span> on a stage,” said Rey, horrified as Trix painted a scarlet streak diagonally through her face from left to right. Her hands began to shake just at the thought of it: thousands of people all looking at </span>
  <em>
    <span>her, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and they’d know, and they’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>laugh</span>
  </em>
  <span>… “I can’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here, you won’t need your glasses—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door burst open, and Kylo Ren stormed into the room in full makeup, face spackled white as paper with a thick black stripe painted horizontally over his eyes from temple to temple, a red line painted from forehead to chin. He saw Rey, and Trix, and Kate, and he stopped in his tracks. “I— what is—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They want me to sing it!” Rey almost shouted, half-desperate for Phasma to come running in and stop this insanity. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh!” Kate waved a finger as she pulled out a black, hooded coat. “You don’t have to sing if you don’t—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You... want to do the song?” asked Kylo, incredulous.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” said Trix, eyes blazing. “Yeah. I do. I don’t care if it’s shit. Fuck them. I saw it. I memorized the part for the keyboard— I can do that, easy. And if you’re on the guitar and singing, and Adam does drums, which won’t be hard in a four-four, we just need a backup vocalist.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can get through it,” said Kate stubbornly. “Seriously, Rey, if you don’t want to sing—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey couldn’t breathe. She didn’t really even hear Kate, actually: all her attention was hyperfocused on Kylo’s cognac-colored eyes, staring at her, almost golden in their setting of black paint. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I… I could do it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, suddenly bold. It wouldn’t be that bad if she fucked it up, anyway: the audience would think she was just another KORE member. “I’ll do it,” she whispered, and Kylo’s mouth quirked into the faintest hint of a smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, yeah,” said Kate. “You go find a costume that fits. I’ll go tell Adam the plan. And don’t let Phasma see us all in one place— we’ll tell her you went to pee or something. Hide back with the stagehands. Stay out of sight behind the curtain until you see the smoke cue, and when I leave the stage you go back on. Nobody will notice.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, God,” said Rey weakly, the bold feeling evaporating like mist. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What have I gotten myself into?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>An hour later, Rey stood in the shadows by the curtains, trying not to bite her thumbnail as her stomach turned cartwheels under the black leather and silk outfit she had cobbled together from Trix and Kate’s closets. The hooded, long-sleeved coat of vertically-crinkled silk and leather, black pants with weird strings hanging down, and boots that added a good three inches to her height, combined with fingerless gloves, a baggy, loose black shirt, the makeup, and a half-mask of hole punched black leather that covered the upper half of her face, showing only her nose, mouth, and the stripe of red that slanted across it, all combined to make her look pretty much exactly like a member of KORE. They’d done Kate’s makeup the same way to be safe, and they were getting ready to do ‘Room On Fire’ which meant she’d be going out there and singing in front of a zillion people in less than five minutes, and she thought for a moment she might throw up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, you can’t throw up,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought dizzily, picking at her cuticles, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’ll ruin it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And after all, hadn’t this been a dream of hers once? </span>
  <em>
    <span>You grow up, you let dreams go, and I never wanted to be caked in makeup like this on a stage smelling like smoke and leather...</span>
  </em>
  <span>she’d wanted bubblegum pop, sweetness, candy-colored dresses and maybe a Covergirl deal. Instead, she’d gotten four years of online harassment and a college degree. And now this was happening. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The universe really does have a sick sense of humor. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>KORE was halfway through the first verse now. Rey gulped and went over the lyrics in her mind, panicking: he’d composed it as a duet, with the first verse and chorus sung by him, so she didn’t have to worry about that— but the words to the second verse were streaming out of her mind as quickly as she tried to remember them. “Shit,” she muttered to herself, frantic. “Shit, shit, shit—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The chorus was dying down, the last cymbal crashing, and the screams from the audience were soaking into her ears as she stood in mute horror. Had it gone so fast already? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>! She wondered if she could run for her life down the hall and get a fight back to New York before anyone realized she was gone. She could hear Kylo from the stage, talking, and forced herself to listen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ve got something a little different for you all tonight as a surprise, Denver,” he was saying warmly, his voice ragged with exhaustion as the crowd cheered in excitement: any surprise was a good one to these people. The stage smoke was drifting up— Rey went on autopilot and passed Kate by the raised drums, hidden from view. Kate pressed her earplugs into Rey’s hands and hurried off, and Rey fumbled to get the things in snugly so she would be able to hear herself singing on-key, then froze in her step as the smoke cleared and she saw—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo, his back to her, black leather coat dragging on the ground, and beyond him—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sea of people was waiting, blurred and soft and huge, beyond the light shining directly into her face. Rey squinted and tried to see, but panic rose up in her chest again: she was totally exposed out here, and now she knew if she could see the crowd, the crowd could see her. She felt like a deer in headlights. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, shit, fucker—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo shrugged off his coat, letting it flop dramatically onto the stage to the roar of approval from the audience, and kicked it across the stage as he began to strum his guitar, the opening chords of their song echoing out in a gentle, soft cadence that quieted the crowd down, and standing up here, Rey suddenly saw him... differently, as if the axis of the earth had shifted a degree. The energy that he possessed was big enough to speak to a room of thousands: kinetic, powerful, electric. The mania that seemed to drive his every action burst out of him, channeled out here, and she understood why he might be so reluctant to leave this world behind: without this outlet, he could self-destruct.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was singing now, and the audience listened with bated breath, a few scattered claps and cheers reaching the stage as his voice echoed out into the stadium. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ruin me, murder me, set me aflame</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll love it as long as you’re saying my name<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Let you kill me with your love<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Let me let you love me, it’s our fate<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Will you let me let you love me, baby?<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>‘Cause love is the only thing stronger than hate.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey set her shoulders and walked out to him, keeping her eyes directly on his face as the audience cheered its approval. She couldn’t remember the lyrics. It didn’t matter. Words were bubbling their way up through her throat, through her mind, resolving themselves into glowing lines as she leaned toward the microphone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Can you feel it all here inside this room?<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Can you hear all the words that I’m saying to you?<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>You could kill me with your love<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>You might kill me but I’ll hold you close<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>We’ll go on the run from all your sins<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>And find out which ones will ruin us most.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He bent in as Trix and Adam started in with the drums and keyboard, and they kept their eyes on each other as they started the chorus, his rough tenor harmonizing with her warm soprano as she hit every note from memory and the audience roared its approval.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m trying to scream, trying to shout, this is ripping me apart from the inside out <br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>but I’m coming after you, I swear I’m coming after you<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>And the shit we both harbor, it’s all getting harder, I know, I know, <br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>but what am I gonna do, <br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>What am I gonna do without you, who am I going to be running to?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo’s mouth quirked up at the corner, and he ad-libbed a little for the bridge: </span>
  <em>
    <span>we’re gonna keep running, running, running—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Rey caught the tune, pitching it up, still on cue: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll be late but I’m coming, coming, coming—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He caught her tune and picked it up again, voice soaring higher. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hear me out, just hear me as I go— </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey gripped the microphone, emotion bursting out of her chest and her mouth as she belted out the words that jumped into her head, nailing the high note. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And we'll listen to the sound as the world explodes…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The audience burst into screaming applause and cheers as Adam smashed the cymbal somewhere behind them and Kylo and Rey repeated the chorus again, and let it trail off gently, the crowd quieting, Trix’s keyboard playing a plaintive, delicate little melody to Rey’s soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>what am I gonna do if there’s no you?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The song ended. There was a breath of silence, as if a million people had all inhaled at the same time, and then the crowd leaped to their feet. Rey could only hear a roar like the ocean crashing around her, her earplugs drowning out half the sound, as Kylo swung his guitar to his side, gripped her hand in his, and raised it high, smiling at the crowd— actually smiling, beaming like he didn’t care he’d just defied Phasma or FOM. It was infectious. Rey smiled too, and pumped her other fist up for good measure before the lights went down and they were hurrying backstage, her gloved hand still gripped in his free one like he’d forgotten to let go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” Trix was gasping, visible elation coursing through her whole form as she tossed her mask to the side with shaking hands. “Holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’ve never, we’ve never done anything like that—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>badass,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” said Adam, clapping Kylo on the back. “Dude, they </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo looked punch-drunk on pure affirmation as the muted screams and cheers floated back to them. “Yeah? God, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen</span>
  </em>
  <span> to th—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phasma rounded the corner with a face like thunder, gripping her phone in one hand, and Mitaka followed in her wake, looking completely blank. Kylo dropped Rey’s hand like it was a hot coal. “What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> did you do?” she snarled, brandishing her phone at them like it was a weapon. “And where the hell did Ms. Niima go?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey froze: Phasma had no clue, then. Adam stepped forward quickly. “One of the technicians said she had to go to the bathroom. She’s gonna be sorry she missed that, though. What a piece.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re in hot fucking water,” snapped Phasma, texting furiously without looking at her phone. “When Hux gets back—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck Hux,” said Kylo, voice gone so black and dangerous that Phasma actually stopped in her tracks and took a step back. “Fuck Hux and fuck you too. Listen to those people. They’re losing their shit. That’s a new song. Real shit, not the pre-canned album— </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen to them.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” And Phasma listened, her face slightly shifting as the thunderous racket of screaming fans, still going on even though the lights had died, met her ears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Snoke’s going to…” she began, but Trix shouldered forward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You tell Snoke this’ll get us good publicity and get more asses in seats in the harder venues to fill. He’ll like that. Money is good, and publicity is better. Right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phasma hesitated, but Rey could see the calculating look in her eyes as she sized up all six of them. “Fine. Don’t be shocked if he wants to give you a personal call, though, Kylo.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo wavered for a moment, his jaw working under the white paint. “Suits me,” he said finally, and stormed off to the door, Rey following him and keeping her head down so Phasma didn’t notice her.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kylo,” she hissed as he flung the door to his dressing room open. “Kylo, wait, what did she mean—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s gonna call me,” he said through lips that barely moved, hunched shoulders like a sloping mountain in the center of the floor. Rey shut the door behind her and looked back at him. “Fuck. He’s gonna call, and I—I’ll have to talk to him, shit, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be fine,” she assured him, her own heart pounding. “Hux said he— he indulges you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He indulges </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> of us, at various and random times, because he knows it gets us fighting each other,” snapped Kylo, turning to look at her. “He doesn’t, he doesn’t play favorites. Not really. He pretends he does. He’s going to be furious I broke my phone. And that I did this. And— he’ll find out </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> were on that stage and not Kate—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’s he going to find out?” demanded Rey, taking a step further in. “Phasma didn’t even know—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have to change,” said Kylo abruptly, and reached out for her, taking her by the hand and half-dragging her to the makeup table. “Change, get all that shit off your face as fast as you can before Phasma comes in here with that goddamn phone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey furiously scrubbed at her skin, the ivory base and red line flaking away. He’d been so happy up there, just doing his own thing, and now he was terrified again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I wish I could punch Snoke in the fucking nose, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought vindictively, and tossed the wipe into a trash can. Kylo was pacing frenetically, clenching his hands and muttering as he watched her, and once the makeup was off, he hurried over, examined her closely, and nodded before hustling her to the wardrobe bar. “Change your clothes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My stuff’s still in Trix’s room,” said Rey.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t matter. Grab, grab some sweats if you have to.” She could almost hear Kylo’s brain churning away, fifteen steps ahead of now under his makeup. “Make up something if someone sees you in the hall.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey shucked off Kate’s clothes and hastily grabbed one of Kylo’s sweatshirts. It was huge, almost down to her knees, and drooped over her hands as she fumbled for the clothes and boots, gathering them up. “Do I just go dump them in Trix’s room?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, go. Go fast.” His eyes bored into her, and she didn’t wait to be told twice: she ran out the door in nothing but his sweatshirt, cheeks burning as she made it safely to Trix’s door and burst in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was empty. She dumped the clothes in the growing pile on the floor of worn stage outfits that would have to be dry-cleaned tonight, yanked her clothes back on, grabbed the sweatshirt with a faint idea of returning it, and started toward the door—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>—just as Phasma opened it, stopping short and staring at her. “What are you doing in here?” she asked, more confused than suspicious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey let her mouth work for a second. “What are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing in here?” she asked, for time to think about what the hell she was supposed to say. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phasma looked even more confused. “Looking for Trix. Whose sweater is that?” She pointed at the balled-up sweatshirt, and Rey tried her best to look like she didn’t care. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t know. I found it in here when I came looking for my bag,” she lied, as convincingly as she could as she held up her bag in the other. “ Forgot I needed, uh, tampons. And they were in here and I... I was in the bathroom. I was going to wear the sweater backstage for the second half of the show. I didn’t think anyone would mind. The big fans… are... cold.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah. You’d better get back there, then.” Phasma waved a hand dismissively and let Rey pass her. “It’ll start as soon as Kylo’s done in his room. He had a call to take.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” said Rey, halting in her tracks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Already?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Well, I’ll… be out there as soon as I finish.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Finish what?” asked Phasma, now suspicious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey sighed. “Going to the bathroom. Tampons, remember?” She waved her purse, and Phasma’s face changed entirely from suspicion to slight embarrassment and exasperation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right, right. Well. Make it fast.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” said Rey, and headed back to the toilet, listening for the sound of Phasma’s shoes to trail away before she turned back around and started marching to Kylo’s dressing room.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had just reached the door and had her fist up, about to knock, when it opened from inside and a hand gripped her wrist, yanking her in. “Jesus!” she snapped, more annoyed than frightened as she got her footing on the floor. Kylo looked completely ashen as he shut the door behind her,  his lips as white as paper even under the stage makeup. “What—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he said, voice gone fragile and small. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what did he—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was interrupted by Kylo storming her personal space, lifting her up off the floor and putting her bodily down on the couch before he sprawled out on his knees in front of her. “Fifteen minutes,” he said, not making eye contact with her as his hands tightened around her calves. “That’s all I have.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For, for what?” Rey stammered, fighting a ridiculous, ill-advised shock of arousal as his head came closer to her thighs. His hands felt like iron, immovable and strong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want, I—” He choked back a noise that might have been a sob and tilted his head back, blinking furiously as he looked at her. “Fuck. I can’t fuck up my makeup right now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had to laugh at that. “No, you can’t. Is there a reason I’m on your sofa right now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to fucking eat you out,” he confessed, shutting his eyes. “Stupid fucking— I don’t want to think about the call. I want to, I want to go on stage thinking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She could feel heat rushing her whole body as if a furnace had been opened. “Oh,” she whispered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes!</span>
  </em>
  <span> screamed her body, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>no!</span>
  </em>
  <span> yelled her rational thought: they had said they wouldn’t do this again, </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally</span>
  </em>
  <span> this morning. What was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> with her? But he was looking at her with those soft, pleading eyes, something about his body poised to spring like a wound coil, and she wanted him so badly that she thought she might suffocate from it. “But you’ll mess your face up if you, if you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So we, we’ll find another way,” he said. “Unless... you don’t, you don’t want—” Something shuttered behind his eyes. He let go of her legs. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m shitty at this.” Both huge hands reached up to his shoulders, gripping himself there as if to center his body. “Really shitty. I didn’t even ask you— how, how did you like it? Being on stage?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey gaped for a moment, still sitting on the sofa where he’d left her. “I… it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>crazy,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she said. “Totally— I can’t even believe I did it, really. I never thought I’d sing again in front of anyone, let alone a huge stadium full of people.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good,” said Kylo, shutting his eyes. “Good. You liked it. That’s… that’s good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kylo,” she said, hesitant to prod him, but curious. “What did Snoke say?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked at her, and his lips twitched as he shook his head. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Don’t worry about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay. I can deal with that. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She swallowed and looked at the door. “How much longer do we… have in here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo blinked. “Twelve minutes. Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, my god, what an idiot. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She swallowed. “Come here. I can think of something that won’t involve your mouth.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinked, then scrambled up onto the couch so fast she barely saw him. The whole thing dipped down low on his side: he was heavy and wearing leather. Thick boots, pants with big silver studs the size of half-dollars dotted all over the thighs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey had plans for those pants.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she said nervously as she straddled his right thigh, half in his lap. “Don’t fuck your makeup up, and don’t… don’t move.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t move,” he echoed, and nodded, gripping the couch to anchor himself in place. “But what are you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey canted her hips forward, seeking out the pressure afforded by the force of her muscles and the huge, solid thigh between her legs. She bit her own lip as her clit slipped over the silver studs, and moaned: it felt good, almost like rubbing one out with a toy. Although, this was a little less maneuverable, of course— nobody had a six foot something, two hundred pound vibrator. “Fuck,” she gasped, rearranging herself for another go. “No, don’t move—” She pushed him back a little, hands gripping his damp T-shirt clad shoulders, and settled down again, moving her hips. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, fuck, who thought humping someone’s leg would feel so good?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hands came up to grip her ass as she toppled a little sideways, steadying her on his thigh. “Shit,” he rasped, and she dared a look up into his face. Kylo was focused directly on her face, watching every movement of her mouth and her eyes, his lips parted. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Drinking me in,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought idiotically, and shoved her hips up again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck. I don’t know if I can come like this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can do it,” he whispered, his thumbs slipping down to rub at the fly of her jeans as she kept moving. “Fuck. Look at me. I want— Rey, I want you to come on my fucking leg, I’ll be thinking about it out there, I won’t be able to stop thinking about it. Come for me. Come on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey grunted and squeezed her eyes shut, huffing little breaths through her nose as she fought to find the rhythm that would shoot her over the edge. It wasn’t a question of being aroused, definitely— this was just strange and new, and so unlike anything she’d ever felt. “Pull, get, get my jeans open,” she panted, and Kylo obeyed instantly, undoing the button and fly and tugging her pants aside to expose her underwear: plain pink cotton. “Fingers,” she demanded, clamping his thigh between hers and squirming on him— wait, that was doing something. “Wait! Wait, no don’t—” Kylo’s fingers froze halfway to her panties as she caught her breath, gasping. The closeness of the muscle and fabric and the tightness was doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> to her clitoris, throbbing closer and closer as she squeezed her thighs rhythmically. “Oh,” Rey choked, back gone tense as Kylo clutched her waist with both hands, watching. “Fuck, fuck, ah, ah, ah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit—</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was gone. Her body shook apart into release, her mouth open in a silent cry for air as her orgasm flooded her and left her trembling and heavy in his lap, his hands still gripping her tightly. “Rey,” he breathed, thumbs stroking her. “Oh, shit, you—was that—did you come?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she gasped, trying to remember how to think. “Fuck. I’ve never done that before.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was…” Blinking, Kylo took her in: pants undone, fully clothed, flushed as she sat on his lap. “Shit. I’m gonna… hold that right with me. You and me. Nobody else. And I’ll remember it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have to, you have to get to the stage,” she remembered, and almost fell off him trying to get her pants back up. He helped her stand up, looked around, and handed her a water bottle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Drink that. Stay back here and take— take care of yourself,” he told her. “I’ll see you after the show.” And he was gone just like that, leaving her alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the show passed without incident. They all headed back to their hotel rooms at the Monaco, exhausted from the day’s events— nobody more than Kylo Ren, whose feet were dragging as he reached his door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey walked into her room and shut the door, half expecting Kylo to be sitting on her bed, waiting… but he wasn’t there, of course, he was in his own room, and it was stupid of her to constantly replay his face in her mind, the look of awe as he’d watched her come, his massive hands gripping her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll see you after the show, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’d said, but...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop it,” she said aloud, storming to the shower. “Stop it. You are a </span>
  <em>
    <span>professional,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you can’t do this again. For real this time.” Rey stripped and started the shower. “A professional doesn’t catch feelings for her clients.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>A professional doesn’t disguise herself and sing on stage, either, </span>
  </em>
  <span>said her conscience. “You’re a journalist, not a fucking singer,” she said, getting into the shower and sighing as the heat chased away the sweaty, stale layer of grime that coated her. “You’re not doing that again. It was— you were just indulging him, because he’s a diva. That’s it. You aren’t going to do it again and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t like it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But… she </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> liked it. Hadn’t she? Rey shampooed her hair and thought about the screaming crowd, the elation she’d felt on hitting that note at the end of the bridge, Kylo’s hand gripping hers, the smile on his face as he’d proudly raised her hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He was proud of me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, and that made her feel strange. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The audience had no clue who I was. They liked the song. I wrote it with him… they liked it. Loved it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had pretended, for a single moment, like a soap bubble, floating iridescent, that she was a real star.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, well. Back to reality.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey toweled off and stepped out of the shower, not even bothering to change into pajamas before she collapsed into bed and fell asleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The third night at Red Rocks was phenomenal. Last-minute ticket buyers, eager to hear the new song that was quickly spreading social media like wildfire from bad-quality phone recordings and word of mouth, crammed the amphitheater and spilled out into the aisles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Snoke, however, was immovable in his decision, it seemed, and KORE did not perform it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey still hadn't had a change to speak to Kylo about whatever Snoke had said— he was seemingly constantly busy, even backstage, and barely looked in her direction— though that could be because Phasma was watching everyone like a hawk, phone in hand, Snoke probably on speed dial, ready to be summoned like a ghoul at the first sign of insubordination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And after Red Rocks, they all packed up, got back into their buses, and started driving south to New Mexico.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>kylo: i want to cry but my makeup was FORTY DOLLARS</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. XI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw for vomiting in this one!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Albuquerque was hot and dry, nestled in the cradle of the Sandia Mountains with the Rio Grande carving out the earth on its way to the Gulf of Mexico as it had done for millions of years. Rey stepped out of the bus in the parking lot of the Hotel Parq Central and stretched her legs, glad to get off the bus: the sun was setting, and the city seemed painted in dusky, burnt shades of orange and rose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phasma passed her without even looking at her and headed them all into the hotel, Mitaka taking up the rear, as they checked in and got their keys. “There’s a rooftop bar,” she told them on the way to the elevators, “so if you must go indulge, be discreet. I won’t have the promised security until tomorrow for the concert.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” said Rey, brightening, “I bet the view is amazing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should get a photo,” said Carter, shouldering their heavy bag. “That would be a great one for a spread, wouldn’t it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Or just for me,” Rey told them, smiling. “See you up there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not me,” Carter told her. “I need a shower. Ugh. You have fun.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey changed into the coolest clothes she owned, the Rag &amp; Bone shirtdress that Kylo had bought for her in Orlando and a pair of sandals, before heading up to the bar, which was set in a little enclosed area on the roof with huge glass doors that opened out on an expansive deck. She ordered a whiskey and coke and headed out to look at the city, sipping it as she sat in one of the low, wide sofas. The breeze was picking up, and her dress whipped around her knees as she pulled her feet in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was beautiful up here. The sunset was fading, leaving the rooftop area lit by fairy lights and the blue-gray remnants of sunlight leaching out of the air. Rey wished she’d brought a sweater— even though the day had been hot, the absence of the sun seemed to suck the warmth out of her body completely. She shivered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something warm and heavy dropped down on her shoulders, and she almost spilled her drink as she looked up, startled. A man’s back that she knew all too well was heading away from her, back to the bar, and her fingers clutched reflexively at the fabric. Cashmere: a sweater, black, soft. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What is he doing?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She watched him go into the bar, come back out with a drink, and sit gingerly on the sofa opposite hers before he took a sip, his plush lips curling around the rim of the glass. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she scolded herself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” she said, for lack of anything else to say.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo set the glass down. “We can’t keep doing this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey lowered her gaze. “I know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you don’t,” he said sharply, and gulped at his drink again. Rey frowned: it looked like straight whiskey, and the glass was almost half-full. “You have no idea. I would have told you earlier, but we have to be— both of us have to be on pins and fucking needles until Los Angeles.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?” she asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because Snoke—” He cut himself off, squeezing his eyes shut, and gained control of himself. “Snoke went over the profits from Denver and has decided that KORE needs to perform ‘Kill me With Your Love’ which, by the way, is the title he came up with for our song— at every other concert we give from here on out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Rey said, alarmed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes glided across her. “Don’t worry. I’ll have Kate sing it with me,” he told her. “Nobody will be any wiser.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So is… this why you’ve been avoiding me?” she asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Kylo said mulishly, and threw back the last swallow of whiskey. She could smell it from where she sat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You could at least be honest with me. You owe me that.” Rey leaned forward, still gripping the glass in her hand. “What did you tell Snoke?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He froze for a millisecond. She almost missed it before he relaxed back into his seat and set his glass down. “Nothing,” he told her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s lying.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The knowledge hit her like a sledgehammer, and fear curled around her heart. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What did he say? What is happening here that I don’t know about? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Amilyn’s words came rocketing back into her head: </span>
  <em>
    <span>power is a disease, and men are a symptom. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She’d been right all along. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should call her,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey thought, slightly panicking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Someone. Anyone. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She leaned back in her seat, feeling sick: she’d let this man get his hands between her legs and open her up and make her feel things, and for what? Nothing. It had all been a lie. He didn’t care about her. He wasn’t even looking at her now, just staring off into the deepening dusk of the city as she sat there and had a whole mental conversation with herself. What if he had told Snoke she’d helped him write the song? Even worse, what if he’d told Snoke she knew his legal name? She’d be… her life would be over. Her whole career as a writer would be ended in an inglorious lawsuit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” said Rey sharply, making him jump. She stood up, the wind whipping her dress around her calves. “You tell yourself whatever you want, Kylo. I’m done.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rey—” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. Have a nice night with your fucking eight shots of scotch, or whatever the hell that is. Bye.” She took the sweater off her shoulders and threw it at him, and he caught it clumsily, his reflexes slow already. It made her sick to see, so she turned on her heel and left him there, walking back into the warmth of the building.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the days passed in a blur. She’d lost track of how many cities they’d been to or concerts they’d played by the time they reached Phoenix: she was constantly writing, and managed to sneak away long enough to call Amilyn on a pay phone at a gas station in Arizona’s flat desert. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have you found anything?” she asked when Amilyn picked up, breathless and hoping.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Maybe,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the hesitant answer. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Looks like he’s got a very long history of evading felony money laundering charges— twice in the nineties, three times in the 2000s. I’m getting a legal team prepared, if only because they’re monitoring you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And the contracts?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a sigh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ms. Niima, we can’t do anything about the contracts. They may be unethical, but they were signed free of duress. They’re legally binding. Unless the band members themselves want to sue, there is nothing we can do.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lawyers,” said Rey, trying to think. “We can’t— probably a conflict of interest to promise them legal representation, but—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, it would be.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Amilyn sighed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Listen. I know you have good intentions. But I can’t—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What if,” said Rey, swallowing hard. “What if I told you I knew Kylo Ren’s legal name, and that I know— I know who his mother is?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a very long silence on the other end of the line. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“What?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> said Amilyn, disbelieving. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And that she works for the government,” Rey continued. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The— the government?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Amilyn sounded like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Rey, why didn’t you say something? Who is he?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey shut her eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck you and your secrets,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought furiously. She’d promised not to tell, but this— this was important, and he had lied to her first. “His name is Benjamin Christopher Solo,” she whispered into the receiver. “His mother is Leia Organa-Solo— the Democratic senator from Massachusetts who’s running again this year.” There was complete and utter silence on the other end of the line. “Hello?” Rey whispered. “Ms. Holdo, did you hear me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Amilyn spoke again, she sounded, bizarrely, as if she might be on the verge of passing out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You— are you sure about this? You have to be absolutely sure.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I’m sure. I’d swear it on my life. Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A gust of static burst into her ear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Because Leia Organa is one of my oldest friends from college, and she hasn’t seen her son in— you’ve just solved a ten year old mystery, Rey.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ben ran away to Los Angeles the moment he graduated high school. He didn’t have the most solid family life growing up, what with his father always being gone and his mother working constantly. He… he really loved music. He was in the marching band, and he was bullied so much— kids made nasty jabs, ganged up on him, told him he’d never be famous, called him names. Never had a girlfriend, never went on dates. He wasn’t the handsomest kid, you know.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey felt a pang of regret seize her chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And I called him an Easter Island head. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Yeah,” she said. “I know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, he ran away and nobody knew what happened to him. Leia did her best, but the police wouldn’t treat it like a missing person’s case, because he was an adult of sound mind and body. She always hoped he’d come home. She’s been thinking he might be dead for the past year.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Amilyn sounded like she might be about to cry, and Rey felt terrible: Amilyn was the most even-keeled person she knew. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll— I’ll call her. I’ll see if we can work something out.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t let anyone at Empire figure out what you’re doing,” Rey said quickly. “Keep it under the table.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, we can’t let Snoke know we’re onto him,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> agreed Amilyn. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You keep your head down. The last thing we need is for you to get kicked off the tour right now. What’s the next stop?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re in Phoenix now,” said Rey. “And after that, um, I think Vegas, Salt Lake City, Seattle, then LA. And Phasma— the security chief— she said something about a party or a fundraiser event or something in LA after the last concert to wrap up the tour.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“At the Griffith Observatory,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> said Amilyn. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s the benefit dinner for Young Musicians of America. You’re attending?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes— at least, Phasma said I would be.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay. You go along with the plan, then, and we’ll make sure you’re picked up at the observatory by the end of the night. We’ll get you out of there and fly you straight home. I’m going to call Leia. Call me again as soon as you can manage to.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Ms. Holdo,” said Rey, and hung up, hands shaking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He ran away from home. </span>
  </em>
  <span>How often had she wanted to do the same thing as a teenager, crushed by the bullying, the relentless attacks? And she had, in a way: reinvented herself the same as he had— but she’d shut all her love for music away, and he’d embraced it so fully it was eating him alive. There had to be a middle ground somewhere… but maybe that was impossible. Maybe the industry was always going to eat them alive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey took a deep breath and turned away from the pay phone, heading back toward the buses. Carter was clambering up with a plastic bag full of snacks, but there was a sleek black car waiting for them, and as Rey got closer, her heart dropped into her stomach and her hackles rose as high as the dry desert grass around them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A man stepped out of the car: a man with a bandage plastered to his cheek and yellowed bruises under his eyes and starkly orange hair, dressed in a black suit, and his eyes met hers across the asphalt as she fought the instinct to run for her life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hux was back.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, Hux kept his distance from Rey in the staff bus. He stayed in the back bedroom and didn’t come out, and she stayed way in the front, Phasma and Mitaka sitting in the middle on the sofas as they trucked along to the hotel they’d be staying in for the next two days.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn’t put Rey much more at ease, though, and by the time she got off the bus and into the hotel, the stress was beginning to wreck her. She ran directly for the toilet, nausea burbling up in the back of her throat, and made it to the stall in time, letting the door swing open as she hurled into the bowl, gagging in misery.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t do this,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, panic rising up again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rey?” It was Kate’s voice, concerned and warm as it echoed through the bathroom. “You okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Rey croaked, wiping tears off her face. “Hux. Fuck. I can’t, I can’t—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Hux,” said Kate, opening the door and crouching down. “Hey. Deep breaths. He’s not going to fuck with you again, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But he, he—” Rey crushed the palms of her hands into her eyes, trying to breathe: why was she so </span>
  <em>
    <span>afraid</span>
  </em>
  <span> when it hadn’t even seemed like a big deal at the time? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Trauma soup,</span>
  </em>
  <span> said Trix in her memory. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He got a call from Snoke on the way out of the hospital and the dressing-down of his life,” said Kate firmly. “He’s not going to go near you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t go out there,” Rey whispered, more sick roiling through her belly. “I can’t ride on, on the fucking, the bus with him, I can’t—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” said Kate. “Okay. That’s fine. You want me to get Victor and Adam to walk you back out?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” said Rey, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Fuck, I’m sorry. You probably think I’m some fragile fucking idiot, you’ve all been through worse and I’m having a meltdown over nothing—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t nothing. He was a moron and he shouldn’t have fucked with a reporter. He overstepped himself.” Kate stood up. “You wait here. Lock the door if it helps. I’ll go get the guys.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey sat on the floor and threw up again once Kate had gone and she’d bolted the stall door shut, then drew her knees to her chest, trying to breathe. She wanted to go home: she wanted to go out for a drink with Rose and listen to Finn tease her about her clothes and fight with Poe over who got to write copy for the sports column. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Get me out, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, wiping tears from her eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Get me out, get me out.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here,” said Kate, opening the door. “Okay, Rey. When you’re ready.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey got to her feet unsteadily and opened the stall door, stepping out to see Victor and Adam waiting beyond the door to the restroom, both looking very serious. “Hey,” she said weakly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” said Victor. “Come on. Let’s get you squared away, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She began to cry again. She couldn’t help it. They were so </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice,</span>
  </em>
  <span> despite all the shit Hux and FOM had flung at them, and they were trying to help </span>
  <em>
    <span>her. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Thanks,” she sobbed, snot running down her lip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the hell are you all doing by the fucking bathroom?” demanded a low, dark voice, and Rey looked up, blinking away tears to see Kylo, half a head taller than Adam, looming between the two men. His eyes fixed on her instantly, and she couldn’t look away. “What—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hux,” explained Kate, sounding bitter. “She’s going to be fine, we’re just gonna get her up to her room.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go with you,” said Kylo without missing a beat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kylo, man, we appreciate it, but you know Phasma said—” began Adam cautiously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know what she said. I don’t give a fuck. Rey, do you want me to go with you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey wiped her nose. He might have lied to her, concealed stuff, and been a huge mess of a person, but when it really came down to it, she knew there was nobody she’d rather have in her corner if they ran into Hux on the way up. “Yes,” she said, sniffing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That settles it,” said Umar, shrugging. “Let’s go, Niima. You want half a Valium?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shuddered, but didn’t have to say a word. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> give her drugs,” snapped Kylo, voice hard and thin, the edge of a knife. Rey stepped out of the bathroom and he moved like he might take her hand, but stopped himself and just turned his back on her. “What floor?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kate checked her keys. “Same as yours. Three.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go.” And they all started walking to the elevator, Rey staring at nothing but Kylo’s broad, gray-sweatshirt-clad back, and the blankness of it began to slowly soothe her mind. Her nausea went away gradually, and by the time they reached her room, she was almost calm again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she said quietly, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo hesitated as the others nodded at her and started to head down the hall. He put his hand on the door frame and looked down at her, and she noted that he almost filled the whole thing up. “He won’t fuck with you again,” he whispered, so softly that she had to lean in closer. “I promise you. Even if you— if you don’t believe me about everything else, anything else— believe that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had no answer for him. What was she supposed to believe? “Okay,” she said simply, and shut the door in his face.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>True to everyone’s word, Hux did not go near Rey for the whole Phoenix stop. He didn’t even look at her, not even when Carter loudly insisted they detour to the Grand Canyon for her sake, and Phasma cleared it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They rolled up to the southern rim at dawn, and Rey stumbled out of Kate and Trix’s bus, blinking and sleepy as they all gathered in the parking lot. “He’s staying in the bus,” said Phasma darkly, looking at the staff vehicle, and Rey felt a little pang of relief: at least she could peacefully enjoy this, then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo, hands shoved deep into his pockets, lumbered over to them with Adam in tow. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “We’ll miss the sunrise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey pretended she couldn’t hear him, but followed Trix to the rim, where they all stood in a group in the chilly predawn air and watched as the purple dusk gradually lightened to blue. Rey squinted. It was hard to see in the dim light, but as the eastern sky turned pink, she saw the huge sides of the canyon, bigger than she had ever thought they could be as they soared a mile down into the ground far below. “Holy shit,” she whispered, chills running down her arms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Next to her, Umar took a casual step back, and Kylo slid in to stand beside her. Not touching her, of course, just standing there, so close that she could have taken his hand if she’d wanted to. Rey sneaked a look at him out of the corner of her eye. He was looking at the canyon like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen in his life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She moved her hand just enough to brush the side of his fingers with the back of her knuckle, and was struck by how cold his hands were. The edge of the sun peeked over the rim of the canyon, and golden light struck the cliff faces, burning away the dim blue shadows and revealing the ancient stone in vivid shades of rose, orange, yellow and brown. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s beautiful,” said Kylo quietly, frozen in place beside her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she said, “it is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From behind them, Carter sighed. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘To have a thought, there must be an object—the field is empty, sloshed with gold</span>
  </em>
  <span>,</span>
  <em>
    <span>’</span>
  </em>
  <span>” they said in soft tones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s that?” asked Victor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Poetry. Richard Siken? God, you really need to read some of my books, Victor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve read that one,” said Rey, still not looking at Kylo. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Vague and smeary in his umbers, his ochers, burning in the open field</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  <em>
    <span>’</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you! At least someone around here has some taste.” Carter moved away, chatting quietly with Umar and Kate as the others moseyed off to snap photos, and Kylo hesitated: they were, for the moment, alone on the rim.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Forget about his insides</span>
  </em>
  <span>,’” he said softly after a moment had passed. Rey stared straight out over the beautiful sunrise: the sky was pink and orange, the light violet dusk still clinging to the shadows. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Put a thing in his hand and be done with it. No one wants to know what’s in his head</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’ Right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She swallowed and mustered the courage to respond. “‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>What do you do with a man like that? What does a man want?</span>
  </em>
  <span>’”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you want me to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>power</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you’d be wrong,” he said, almost bitter. “But we do have a lot of paint layered up and shoving around here, don’t we?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I asked </span>
  <em>
    <span>what does a man want</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You haven’t told me yet.” She would not turn her head: she would keep staring at the vastness of this canyon until the sky came down if she had to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What I want doesn't matter. Didn’t you listen? ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>No one wants to know what’s in his head</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey brushed the back of her knuckles along the side of his palm and felt him stiffen at the touch. “Your hands are cold,” she whispered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t. Not out here.” Kylo’s voice had gone brittle and hard, but instead of pulling away, his fingers extended, the pinky and ring fingers trembling as they curled around her index finger: not tightly enough to hold, but firmly enough to make Rey catch her breath. Despite his words, he wanted this: wanted it so badly his hands were shaking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Rey stepped back a little, blocking their hands from the view behind, and gripped his hand in hers so that only the gulf of the canyon could see them, hand-in-hand. Kylo sighed audibly and gripped her hand tight: his was ice-cold and huge. “If I didn’t want to know what was in your head,” she whispered, “I wouldn’t have interviewed you in the first place.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you saw— everything,” he said haltingly, “you’d— you’d hate me. You would. More than you do already.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t hate you,” she said. “I— you frustrate the shit out of me, but I don’t hate you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t hate you either,” he quietly replied. “I want— I want you to know that, believe that even if— whatever happens. I don’t. I never did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We should go,” she said reluctantly, letting her fingers slip out of his. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” said Kylo, sounding exhausted. He brought his empty hand up to rub his eyes in the gold-heavy light. “We should.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Salt Lake City and Seattle passed in a blur of noise and color. Kylo Ren kept his distance as usual, and so did Hux. Rey managed to call Finn from a payphone near Portland on their way down the coast, and was told that Ms. Holdo was working on getting her back to New York as soon as possible: she was planning on getting a couple of people to escort Rey to a car halfway through the fundraiser gala, and get her on a private jet at LAX and back to New York before anyone knew she was gone. From there, they’d work on handling a lawsuit against First Order Management on her behalf.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And if the people sent to get you are me and Poe, don’t freak out,” he added. “We’re dying for an excuse to dress up and pull a secret agent extraction.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had to laugh. “Thanks. I’ll try to call you once we’re in California.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That, however, proved to be a fruitless attempt. Once they’d reached Los Angeles, Rey was shuttled off to a couturier who seemed extremely irritated at having to dress another person so last minute for the gala. The theme, apparently, was “Technology And Celestial Bodies”, so the designer pinned together a gauzy, multicolored outfit that was supposed to represent a nebula, only to be shot down by Phasma, who insisted Rey needed something that wouldn’t make her stand out too much in the crowd. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took all day and a near fistfight, but Rey was finally put into a pleated, gauzy, light gray dress that had a subtle glitter to it, like stars, and plunged very low in the front and lower in the back. With promises of accessories to come with the stylist, she was hustled out of the building, and Phasma immediately took her to a Starbucks, where she got food and coffee for both of them and drove back to the venue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… appreciate you taking me and not, um, leaving Hux to do it,” said Rey quietly as the streetlights started to come on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm. Don’t mention it.” Phasma took a bite of her bagel. “I’d make him apologize, but I figured you didn’t want to speak to him at all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I really don’t,” said Rey. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phasma nodded. “He oversteps himself… a lot. Trying to impress Snoke. Well, Snoke wasn’t very fucking impressed that he tried to give a tagalong reporter drugs and slapped her ass in front of every big name in that room. Trust me. He’s on thin ice, and he’s worse when he’s on thin ice. You want to keep your distance anyway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But he won’t lose his job, will he?” asked Rey, closing her eyes. “They never do. Men like that, I mean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A deep sigh seemed to come out of Phasma’s chest. “No,” she said, “no, they never do, do they? I guess if I had any morals left I’d demand he be sacked. But First Order… they found me when I was in a shitty place. Ex military, nowhere to go, wound up on trial for theft and assault… they offered me a job and a home and money. Stability. There’s not a lot some people won’t do for that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last thing Rey had ever expected was getting introspection from this giant of a woman. “I can understand that,” she said. “And you’re… good at your job.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A small smile lifted the corner of Phasma’s mouth. “I am, aren’t it?”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Four nights, four shows. Every concert was more frantic than the one before, mostly due to Kylo Ren’s energy sailing through the roof and electrifying the audience of thousands, and on the last night, true to their word, Kate and Kylo performed “Kill Me With Your Love” and brought the house down with wild applause.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They left the venue and Rey was discomfited to see that Hux, once they were in the car, opened a black leather briefcase and started handing them pills, which they took, with reactions varying from reluctant acceptance to as blase as if it was aspirin. “Uppers for the party,” he clarified, probably for Rey’s benefit in the shuttle back to the hotel. “Don’t want you all passing out in the observatory. Bad optics.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Optics, optics. Rey sighed as she sat back against the leather seat and watched the cars streak by. Before long, they were piling out, everyone else artificially peppy and bright, and she was being herded into her hotel room by a security guard she didn’t know the name of and a stylist with bright white hair and orange lipstick who introduced herself as “B” (or maybe Bea, or Bee? Rey wasn’t sure) before methodically stripping Rey from top to bottom, hustling her into the shower, and pulling her back out to do about a million weird things to her face, set her hair, file and paint her nails, style her hair, and put on her makeup. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After that, on went the dress, pulled out of the shroudlike garment bag it was waiting in, and Rey opened her eyes in front of the mirror to see—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, it sure didn’t look like her, or feel like her, this vision wearing a dress made out of starlight and silk tulle, but the woman with silver-lined eyes and huge black lashes that made her eyes look startlingly light was certainly beautiful. The heavy foundation, blush, and contour, designed to make her face pop for harsh photography lighting, concealed every old mark and freckle on her nose, and her lipstick was glittering, nude rosy pink. Rey reminded herself silently to not bite her lips as she reached up and carefully touched a perfect, simple wave of brown hair, which looked glossier and richer due to something B had put in it.</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?” asked B, settling her headpiece into place behind her in the mirror. It was a simple headband, silvery stars trailing across her hair like a wreath. “What do you think?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I like it,” Rey said. “A lot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good! Shoes.” B marched to the bed and opened up a shoebox, extending a pair of silver ombre heels to Rey. “Here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t— those are too high,” said Rey, alarmed. A whole evening in those pointy-toed nightmares? Unthinkable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>B frowned. “They’re Jimmy Choo 100s. They’re not high. They’re just under four inches.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Four inches?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey hadn’t meant for her voice to rise quite that high. “Forget it. I’ll wear my sneakers under the—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> wearing sneakers to a fundraiser gala. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>disrespect.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> B shook an admonishing finger. “I don’t care if you’re a reporter, you’re wearing those heels and that is final.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But how am I supposed to make a mad getaway to the car in these death traps? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey thought anxiously as she wedged her feet into the shoes. She had to admit they weren’t that bad: just uncomfortably high, and as long as she put her weight on her toes she was fine— but that mushed her toes into the triangular toe box, and— ugh. Well. It was only for a few hours. That would be fine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She left the room and headed down to the lobby, flanked by the security guard, and had to pause for a moment at the sight that met her eyes. There was a massive crowd of paparazzi lined up outside with cameras, waiting for them to step out of the front doors, but that wasn’t what gave her pause: the band looked absolutely phenomenal, and she had to stop in her tracks and just stare for a moment. First Order Management must have finally decided to come out with exposing the genders of Kate and Trix  (which Rey guessed was to be expected, anyway, because of their newest hit song that depended on having a female voice singing with Kylo) because Kate was in a billowing, deep red gown with a huge Saturn appliqued on the train, her dark hair done in beautiful curls and a golden-rayed headband like a crown on her head with a gold mask covering the upper half of her face. Trix wore an almost transparent black net gown embroidered with planets, stars, and constellations, her face and head obscured by a black net veil with silver sequins dangling off the hems. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” said Rey, drawing closer. “You two look—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uncomfortable?” asked Trix, shifting her position slightly. “This dress is itchy as hell.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was going to say really good, but— wow, what the hell is Victor wearing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kate laughed as they all turned to look: Victor was in a bright chrome-iridescent getup of a jacket, pants, and boots, and he looked extremely grumpy even behind the black visor that obscured his eyes. “He looks like wrapping paper from 2000, doesn’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the glaringly bright eyesore of a costume, Rey couldn’t stop staring at the others, either: Carter wore a long, high-necked baggy duster that seemed to fluctuate between green, orange, and red; Adam (thank God, because her eyes needed a rest from the riot of color) was in a simple, shiny, dove-gray belted coat and pants that left one arm bare under a thick, draped scarf; and Umar was in bright silver, baggy pants and a black velvet blazer with Swarovski crystals scattered along the sleeves and back. All of them wore either black visors or facepaint, and it took Rey a moment to realize someone was missing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where’s—?” she began, but Kate sighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kylo? He had to take a call. He’ll be down in a minute.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hux came out of the elevator, in a deceptively simple-looking, black, padded crewneck sweater and black silk trousers, his red hair impeccably combed, a thick layer of Dermablend covering his bruises. Rey fought to hide her revulsion at the sight of him as Trix edged closer. “The hard part will be leaving to get into the cars,” she said quietly. “The flashes are gonna be right in your face. Just look straight ahead and stay close to Phas. You’ll have to be in the car with the team, and it’s going to suck because Hux’ll be in there, but you’ll be okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” said Rey quietly, wishing she’d decided to wear a turtleneck and maybe a garbage bag over her head as Hux’s cold green eyes took note of her exposed skin and slid right past her to the band as he walked past. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ugh. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The elevator opened again, and out came Phasma in a bright chrome pantsuit, followed by Kylo Ren, who looked…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey had to catch her breath for a moment to figure out what she was looking at, but then realized that he was wearing a structured, long black coat that made his shoulders look even bigger than they were already. She blinked, and tried to catalog it mentally so she could remember it for her notes later, since her phone was in her clutch and she couldn’t get to it fast enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kylo Ren: wearing a billowing black cloak? Coat? Silk velvet, black with a reddish cast to the short pile: there’s a massive ray-burst design of red Swarovski crystals shining out of the silver button that holds it together at the waist, and underneath he’s wearing a huge black cowl or scarf that covers him up to the chin. Black pants, black leather boots that add a few inches to his height, black gloves. His face is covered by a black metal mask— no, really it’s more like a crown, I guess, a crown sitting on his hair with chains that hang down to reveal only his eyes and cover his mouth with a piece of black metal, inlaid with silver and more red crystals.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is it a muzzle, or is it a fashion statement?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tried to ignore him as he swept up to her, Trix, and Kate. “Hi,” he said sharply, and whatever the mask’s appearance was, it definitely could not hide the bite to his tone. “Are we going or what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Waiting on your slow ass,” said Kate. “Nice crown. You look like the antagonist of some crappy YA fantasy novel.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can tell Snoke he took too long on the phone, then,” said Kylo, and Trix’s eyes met Rey’s behind her veil. “Where’s Hux? We’re going to be late. Snoke was very insistent that we not be late. Empire donated a lot of money to the program.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He barely seemed to notice Rey at all. She trailed behind the band with Mitaka, who for once had put his phones away and was watching where he was going, as they stepped outside into a wild cacophony of noise and light and screaming voices. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She fought the instinct to shield her eyes from the flashes, but remembered Trix’s advice and kept her head up, staring directly at the cars until they’d reached the curb and she was about to step into the second big black SUV with Mitaka helpfully reaching out his hand to help her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” said Kylo Ren suddenly, and the photos were still going off wildly, capturing every second as he paused, looking back at Rey. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Niima rides in here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Hux very thinly, forcing a smile on his face for the camera’s sake. “No, Kylo, she’s press: she’s riding with the team, remember?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was the wrong thing to say. Kylo stormed past Hux in a billow of black fabric and grabbed Rey by the hand as she was halfway into the van, dragging her back out. “You’re with us,” he said so softly that she thought she might have imagined it as Hux went an ugly shade of puce. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Our</span>
  </em>
  <span> team.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Snoke was </span>
  <em>
    <span>very clear,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” said Hux coldly, staring at Kylo, “that—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” said Victor, stepping forward and pitching his voice low enough that none of the photographers could hear. “Unless you want your other eye socket broken.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>threatening me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Victor?” spat Hux, rigid. “Would you </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be shipped back to Virginia and the dive bar we dredged you out of?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not threatening you. You gave him uppers again. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> how he gets,” said Victor calmly, staring at Hux. “If it’s a question of space, I’ll ride with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey could barely breathe as Kylo gauged the tension between the three of them and apparently decided on a compromise. He opened the door of the staff SUV and gestured into it. “Get in,” he said, in a tone that brooked zero arguments, and something unspoken passed between him and Victor: the slightest nod, a clenched jaw. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She got in. Kylo walked away to the other car as she slid in and sandwiched herself between Phasma and Victor, strangely, who got in after her and shut the door. “Nice… crowd,” she ventured as Hux got into the passenger side. The message couldn’t have been clearer: Victor was to keep an eye on her for Kylo.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Loud crowd,” said Victor. “I like your dress, though. Looks nice.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” said Rey. “My stylist wouldn’t let me wear sneakers with it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Victor laughed. “Now there’s an idea. You should have gone with an astronaut theme. Just a NASA sweatshirt and sneakers and jeans. Perfect.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stylish and comfy,” agreed Phasma. “Right, Hux?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hux just sat there, unblinking and silent as he stared out the windshield, as still as stone, and the car started to pull away.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. XII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw for gore! IT'S THE FINAL COUNTDOWN DA DA DAAAA DA</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Griffith Observatory was gleaming with lights when they pulled up and got out, walking with their security detail down to the building as screaming reporters and paparazzi snapped photos and yelled questions they didn’t answer. There were a ton of people out on the grass and the path leading up to the building, and Rey noted with some irony that there was a real red carpet laid out on the stone terrace, carpet that her thin high heels sank into with every step and that was quickly becoming dingy with so many feet walking on it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pictures at the backdrop,” snapped Hux, white as a sheet with barely-contained stress as he directed them all. “Go. Don’t answer questions. You know the drill.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey stood by Mitaka as the band lined up in front of a massive vinyl backdrop patterned with the various sponsors of the fundraiser and the photographers went ballistic, snapping photos and shouting for them to face one way, then another, then show the back of their clothes. Mitaka sighed, looking down at his phone. “Well, at least the publicity is off the charts,” he muttered, half to Rey and half to himself. “Trending on every platform right now, top of the lists. Snoke will be pleased.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is this the first time they’ve ever revealed this much of their identities in public?” Rey asked, watching as Trix wrapped an arm around Carter’s shoulders and posed for the cameras.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mitaka frowned absently. “Yes. I think also, possibly… this is the first time they’ve ever revealed this much of their faces.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow. Snoke must have really capitalized on that song,” said Rey.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm. He did. If they weren’t a household name before, they are now. They were the absolute top trend on Twitter alone nonstop for the past week of the tour.” Mitaka pointed at his phone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that why he keeps calling Kylo so much?” asked Rey, keeping her voice calm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, part of it,” said Mitaka, still scrolling through Twitter without really looking at her. “That and the whole thing about you holding a technical songwriting credit—Kylo is very insistent that you be paid for it, especially since you have a history in the industry—even if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> about a decade old, but Snoke—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey’s ears began to ring: a high-pitched, squealing wail that drowned out Mitaka’s voice and left her feeling as if the earth itself had ceased to spin— as if she would be flung off the surface and hurled into space by the inertia left inside her body. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You have a history in the industry. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>told Snoke. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’d told Snoke who she was, he’d let her </span>
  <em>
    <span>secret out</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Panic threatened to choke her, but she managed to get a grip as Mitaka stopped himself short, flushing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said, stuttering. “Ah, uh—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve said enough, thank you,” said Rey shortly, and withdrew, watching KORE finish their photoset with unseeing eyes as terror and fury warred inside her chest, threatening to burn her alive.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until they had gotten inside the observatory and were walking up the stone steps to the South Gallery that Rey had calmed down. The panic had receded, leaving only anger-sharpened determination in its place: she was going to do so, so much worse to Kylo Ren than break his nose when she was through with him. He was walking ahead of her, Hux close by like a creepy shadow, and she stared at his back— the shining dark waves of hair that had been carefully placed and styled, the black velvet, the ugly crown of black enamel and silver and Swarovski crystal. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I hate you, I hate you so much, I hate you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought fervently, clutching her fist so tightly she felt the nails digging into the palm of her hand. They had been painted a rose nude, the ring nails bisected with a careful, silvery line of glitter— she noted that distantly as she looked down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey barely noticed when they’d reached the main area: tables, lights, banners, tasteful music, hundreds of celebrities in fantastical clothing milling around the planetarium with drinks and smiles or just looking bored. A month ago, she would have killed to cover this. Now, she just wanted to run, especially because people were rushing over to take selfies and talk to the band members and chat with Kylo, who Hux was bodily… guarding? Deflecting? He put himself between Kylo and other people, ensuring that nobody got a chance to speak to him, and Rey saw it work: some blond woman she thought she remembered from an online article about vaginal steaming gave up and quietly turned away, along with a few men she knew had been featured in People’s Sexiest Men of the Year spreads. Kylo Ren remained alone, untouchable, shrouded in black.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A corpse. A dead thing. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey shuddered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miss Niima, Rolling Stone, isn’t it?” asked a familiar voice, and she looked up in astonishment to see the most welcome sight in the whole world: Poe Dameron, with Finn at his shoulder, both wearing immaculate tuxedos and smiling at her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wanted to cry. She wanted to hug them, scream, run for the hills. But Phasma was casting a semi-interested glance at her, so she kept her face carefully blank and said, “Yes, that’s me. And you are?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Isaac…um, Isaac Estrada,” said Poe, beaming as he held her hand out to shake. “I work for, uh, Vogue. I’m super interested in hearing all about your tour with KORE.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t steal my notes,” she informed him loftily as she shook his hand, a smile threatening to break out on her face and ruin his cover. Phasma turned back to watching the crowd. “And you?” Rey asked Finn. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“John… Johnson,” said Finn, perfectly straight faced. “Entertainment Weekly. Fashion editor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So nice to meet you both,” Rey told them. “I guess you didn’t get the memo that we all have to dress like something out of sci-fi tonight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s why— these,” explained Finn, gesturing at his planet-shaped silver cufflinks. “Subtle, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s subtle and there’s boring. I’d think a fashion editor would know the difference,” Rey teased. It felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> to tease someone, to just be casual without being on edge— but they weren’t out of the woods yet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’d love to pick your brain for some quotes about tonight, if that’s okay,” said Poe, raising an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” said Rey, beckoning at them. “They’re going to start the dinner any minute now. I’m sure we can step aside.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once they’d made it into a corner of the room, Rey reached out and gripped both their hands tightly. “Ow,” said Poe quietly, squeezing her hand right back. “Missed us that much? First question: are you okay? Second question: when’s the best time to make a break for it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not right now,” she told them, releasing their hands and ignoring the first question. “They’re keeping a close eye on me. I can feel Phasma watching, and she’ll raise hell at the first sign of anything gone wrong.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The blond lady who looks like a bodybuilder? Who’s that shifty-looking redhead, then?” asked Poe, peering over her shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shuddered. “Hux. The handler from First Order Management. Ugh. Don’t make eye contact. Look. I’ll find you guys after dinner. I’ll be able to sneak away during those boring speeches. It’s about to start anyway. I’ll head back to the group and linger around until it starts. Until then, lay low.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You got it. Call if you need anything.” Finn nodded at her, and the pair of them moved off as she went back to the tables.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What was that about?” asked Phasma, eyes narrowed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just a couple of journalists. You know. Trying to get my scoop.” Rey looked as disgruntled as she could, and Phasma’s mouth pressed into a tight smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, we can’t have that. You ought to find a seat. Dinner will be starting soon.” She turned away, and Rey looked around, relieved, to find an empty seat at their table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miss Niima.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knew that voice, hated that voice. Rey jerked her head up to focus on Hux, who came striding toward her briskly, not quite looking </span>
  <em>
    <span>at</span>
  </em>
  <span> her, but more through her, as if she was a shadow. “What do you want?” she said, trying to sound more even than she felt as he came to a halt by her a respectful distance away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your presence has been requested,” he said. “Come with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“By who?” she demanded, not moving.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Come with me, I said."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who—” Rey gaped, stiffening as Hux swept behind her and pressed a hand to the small of her back. “Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>touch me,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she snapped as he guided her firmly away from the tables, to the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t make a scene, now, Miss Niima,” he said, and she had just enough time to catch a glimpse of black moving from the corner of her eye before they were in the hall to the South Gallery again, heading toward the stairs past trickling stragglers going into the planetarium for the beginning dinner. Hux lightened the pressure on her back, but didn’t release her, and she wanted to peel his skin off hers: her dress was practically backless, and his palms were clammy. “You’ve been summoned.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you still haven’t told me who—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Snoke,” he answered flatly. Beneath the makeup, his skin still held a greeny-yellow cast that nothing could camouflage. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Snoke… he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>here?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Rey felt ice crowd the pit of her stomach, terror rising in her blood. Snoke: the man with the power to ruin her career as a writer, the man who held them all in the palm of his hand. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>here, </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the building?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As we’ve repeatedly mentioned, he donated over a million dollars to the cause, so yes, he is—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Stop.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The voice was dark, tight, toneless and gravelly, and Rey froze in her tracks as Kylo Ren came striding toward them from the hall. “Where are you taking her?” he snapped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hux’s green eyes narrowed. “He’s asked to speak to her. I am delivering her to him. Kindly stay out of this, Ren.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You think he’ll be happy you’re manhandling her, after the reaming he gave you?” demanded Kylo, and Hux’s hand dropped from Rey’s skin instantly. “Was Victor right? Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>another fractured eye socket?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you threatening me?” hissed Hux, livid. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I am,” snarled Kylo, and Rey automatically stepped back: the energy between these two was like a toxic cloud that choked out anything in its path. “Get out of my way. Go eat your dry steak and shitty potatoes. I’ll take her to Snoke. Unless, you know. You want a matching set of bruises.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hux let out a series of short, angry noises before whirling on his heel and stomping back to the hall, and Rey breathed a sigh of relief before turning to Kylo. In the dimness of the hall, he looked like a huge shadow: black on black, red sparks glittering on his cloak. “Thank you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t do it as a favor to you,” he said shortly, and took her by the elbow with a gloved, huge hand, walking her down to the stairs. “Come on. You heard him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what? He’s— you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>taking me</span>
  </em>
  <span> to him?” Terror,anger, betrayal all welled up together in her throat and her chest: a horrible tight pressure that made it impossible to think. “You fucking asshole</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You don’t care about anyone but yourself, do you? I never should have trusted you, not in a million years— you selfish fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>dick!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo didn’t say a word. He guided her aside, into a small alcove in front of the Hall of the Sky wing, and turned her to look up at him. “Listen to me. Don’t tell him </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Don’t— don’t, just let him think you’re stupid, okay? His hands were shaking, and Rey realized after a moment that he was frightened, maybe as frightened as she was. That didn’t make her feel any less angry, though. “Don’t get smart with him. He hates that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why would I need to tell him anything,” she said through her teeth, “when </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> already told him everything about </span>
  <em>
    <span>me?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Behind the black mask, his eyes went wide in horror. Rey jerked away from him. “Yeah. I know. I’m not stupid. How </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rey,” he said, sounding numb, “Rey, don’t, </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> do anything stupid in there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you,” she hissed, and backed away from him into the hall, fully intending to run. “Stay away from me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not getting away that easily,” he growled, and darted forward, gripping her by the arm. She opened her mouth to protest, but he clapped a hand over her mouth and hustled her backward into an unoccupied, small room that she thought might be a closet and shut the door behind them. An automatic light in the ceiling flickered on, casting them both in a dim, yellow glow and revealing shelving, mops, and cleaning supplies. One wall was free of shelves, and Kylo hedged her into it, arms bracketing her shoulders as he breathed hot and close into her face. “You can’t run from this, Rey. You have to face it. Just like I did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re high, aren’t you?” she hissed, glaring at him. “I can tell— your pupils are blown to shit and you’re sweating like crazy behind that stupid mask— that crown thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even though the haze of whatever he was on, Kylo managed to look indignant. “And?” he snapped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you dragged me into a fucking closet to do fuck knows what,” she spat, incensed. “Fuck you. You won’t even show your face to me, you coward. I know you </span>
  <em>
    <span>told him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you, you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I told him,” Kylo said coldly, and reached up, taking the crown and chained mask off. It hit the floor with a clang, and Rey stared at him blankly: pale as death, shadows on his face that spoke of long sleepless nights, chapped lips, red-rimmed eyes. “I couldn’t hide it. Not when he... you don’t know how he can be. What he does to people who say </span>
  <em>
    <span>no. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I wanted to do what I could to help us both, but it— it backfired, and—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Rey snarled, jutting her chin up at him. “That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> you wanted? You </span>
  <em>
    <span>traitor—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Kylo murmured, staring at her. “I’m a traitor. His hands, firmly on the wall, began to shake. “Oh, God. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I told him. I promised you I wouldn’t, and I… I did. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” His voice broke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was warm in the closet. That was why her skin was prickling, Rey told herself as she shifted between his forearms, staring up at him. No other reason. “You fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>asshole</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she whispered. Everything was </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone,</span>
  </em>
  <span> everything she’d worked for so hard and for what? Nothing. Nothing at all: there remained only the man three inches away from her, draped in black and on the verge of tears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are we going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do?</span>
  </em>
  <span><em>”</em> he asked, voice naked with terror. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Rey said. “I don’t care.” She slid her hands up his chest and gripped his collar, emotion threatening to explode out of her. “I don’t know if I want to, to, to kiss you or fucking beat the shit out of you right now—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Either is fine,” he whispered, eyes heavy-lidded and beseeching. “I don’t care. Choke me if you want. Beat the shit out of me. I deserve it. As long... as long as it’s you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey leaned in and kissed him hard: he tasted like iron, metallic blood and sweat and the bitter tang of whatever Hux had probably given him— beyond that, a plush, warm mouth moved desperately over hers in return as his tongue explored her mouth. She dropped her clutch and wedged herself in closer to his body, and felt something hard and thick pressing along her thigh, between his legs: </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Kylo groaned, deep in his throat, and broke the kiss, bringing his hands up to cradle her waist. “This dress,” he whispered, and bent close, tracing her sternum with his nose. “God. Wanted to… tear it off you when I saw it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was expensive, so you’d better not,” she told him, squirming as his gloved hands traced her skin down where the only thing holding the dress to her skin was double-sided tape. She shied away, shy of those black leather gloves: and wasn’t that strange, since he’d already had those fingers inside her? But it wasn’t… the same, somehow. He didn’t press it, and bent down instead, dropping his hands to press his body to hers, eyes fluttering back in his head as her breasts pressed against his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re soft,” he whispered, half to himself before his eyes flickered up to meet hers. “Rey.” He bent to kiss her cheek, mouthing at her ear, inhaling deeply through the strands of hair that had come loose from her perfect coif.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” she gasped, shivering as his warm breath trailed over her skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was the briefest pause, a slight hesitance, and then he shook his head sharply, his hair sticking to his forehead. “Nothing,” Kylo told her, and went in for another kiss, this one brutal and unyielding and nothing like what she had wanted, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> if it wasn’t lighting up all her nerve endings like fire. “Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he growled, tearing away from her mouth as he shoved a rough hand between her legs, fumbling with the layers of silk tulle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t rip my fucking dress,” she gasped, trembling against the wall as he finally found her bare legs and pulled the skirts up, his gloved fingers tracing across the front of her nude, boring underwear. His hand was shaking— the other one was struggling to get his fly open, and a stab of mixed shock and glee struck her like lightning: they were really about to fucking do this— or something, anyway: she didn’t know what he had in mind and didn’t care. “Kylo—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell me you fucking hate me,” he groaned, a leather-encased hand digging into his pants and coming out full of his cock, which— Rey almost choked on her own spit at the sight of that, even though it wasn’t like it was the first time she’d seen it. “Tell me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I fucking hate you,” she told him, back pressed into the wall. “You, you— you selfish fucking asshole, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>dick.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Was that thing even going to fit in her? It had barely fit the first time, and now they were in a closet. How the hell was this going to work?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because I’m worthless,” he gasped, and gave himself a few preemptive pumps, staring directly at her with laserlike focus. “I’m nothing, I’m useless. Tell me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You—” Rey grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into her, making him moan into her mouth pathetically as she kissed him and dug her fingers into his ass, his back, everywhere she could reach. “You horrible worthless waste of </span>
  <em>
    <span>time,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you asshole, you, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she spat, mind spinning wildly out of control. “But not to me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A strangled noise choked its way out of Kylo’s throat, and he crushed her up against the wall, pinning her there while he kissed every part of her he could reach with his mouth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My makeup’s going to be fucked,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought dizzily, but forgot about that as he flipped her to face the wall, his hips grinding up against hers under the silk tulle as he yanked her underwear down, thrusting erratically through the slick space between her damp, hot inner thighs. “Oh, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he sobbed, face planted in the crook of her neck. “Rey, Rey, I can’t, I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you can,” she insisted, pinned against the marble by two hundred pounds of black silk velvet and leather-clad muscle. “You keep saying you can’t, but you did, and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>can. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You’re a fucking human being.” To punctuate her point, she wiggled her ass up against him, slipping as much of her hot, slick labia as she could against his cock, and Kylo made a noise like he was dying. “So fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>me like one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he spat, reaching down and shoving his gloved fingers against her pussy. The seam rubbed her clit, and she yelped as a bright, clear shock ran through her body: she wanted more of that, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>much more, but Ben was working out where she was in relation to him, fingers dipping into her sopping crux as she moaned against the marble wall. He found her, pulled back, gripped her hips beneath the skirts, and lined himself up, pushing into her body, air leaving his throat in a reedy gasp as she yelped and scrabbled against the cool stone. He was splitting her open, nothing hurt at all, it only felt perfect and good and </span>
  <em>
    <span>whole</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “R-Rey?” he asked, sounding ragged as he bottomed out flush against her ass, his hips pinning her to the wall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” she gasped, trembling and stuffed full of his cock, barely standing on her toes. “Ah, Ky—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Kylo</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Am I hurting you?” he demanded, sounding strained. “You have to, to tell me if I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No,</span>
  </em>
  <span> no, you’re not, you— it’s good, move, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> just move—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo canted his hips slowly as if he was testing the drag of his skin against hers, deep inside, and his knees almost buckled along with hers: he was thick and solid and full, and the sweet, slow drag of him was heaven. He held himself up against the wall, holding her with him, shuddering while he buried his face in her hair almost as deeply as he pressed his cock inside, stilling his hips. She groaned, wiggling her ass: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want more, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought wildly, but couldn’t get the words out. He seemed to understand, anyway. “Hold… on,” he choked, and reached around her front again, fingering carefully at her clit with the caution and precision usually reserved for his instruments.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey muffled a cry in her forearm and arched her back as her body tingled, aglow, on fire: it felt so fucking good, and she was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>full</span>
  </em>
  <span> of him, surrounded by him, being touched everywhere as her muscles went taut and her nerves spindled out into ropes of ever-climbing </span>
  <em>
    <span>something, </span>
  </em>
  <span>something she knew was her orgasm, heading toward her like a bullet. </span>
  <span>It hit her hard. She lost her senses and shook like a leaf, crying out into the close, hot air as Kylo whispered into her ear and held her up, as immovable as stone, his dick still wedged inside her as she came around him, hot and melting and close. “Ben,” she gasped without thinking, and the soft whispering stopped, the hands holding her up suddenly changed from gentle to hard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me that,” he snarled, and a fresh wave of arousal flooded her, to her shame, as he pulled out of her (and she whimpered at the loss, actually whimpered, like a sad kitten) and began to piston his hips, frantic and erratic, thrusting between her legs again. “I don’t fucking deserve that. Don’t</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not here. Not— not—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, Kylo,” she whined, reedy and wanting. He grunted and shoved her up, and to her shock she realized he was lifting her bodily, her feet no longer touching the floor as he fucked her between her soaked upper thighs against the wall, his arms doing all the labor. “Oh, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“S-say it’s me,” he begged, voice breaking into a sprawling mess of need. “Say it’s me, Rey, please—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s you,” Rey managed, trying her best to trust that he wouldn’t drop her. “You, you, it’s you, it’s always been you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo let out a sobbing, wretched cry and his hips jerked in an uneven, shuddering rhythm. Rey felt a warm, wet bloom smear her skin as he came between her legs, gasping for breath as if he’d run a mile, hands shaking so badly he could barely keep his grip on her— but he did, and when he’d finished, he slowly lowered her to the ground, still panting for air as he slipped away from her body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So… that was it. Rey swallowed, trying to ignore the gluey, wet mess smeared between her thighs as she wrestled her underwear back up and turned to face him. She didn’t have anything to wipe herself off with, not even a Kleenex. He was still trying to catch his breath, mouth slack and open, eyes bright with tears, face flushed and hair tousled as he drunkenly focused on her. Stunned. Bewildered. And— as the seconds ticked by and the endorphins faded and realization set in— ashen-faced, eyes shuttering into blankness, face setting into stone as he did his fly back up and wiped the back of his mouth with his glove. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She could barely look at him as she rearranged her dress and tried to comb her hair into something resembling order. “I— that—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It won’t happen again,” he said stonily, picking his headpiece off the floor and putting it back on. The mask covered his mouth and nose, his eyes visible. “It won’t. I— I’m sorry. We have a meeting. Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm an idiot. I shouldn't have done that. Oh, my god. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey didn’t know if her legs would be able to handle the strain of walking, but he had already opened the closet door and was waiting silently, so she had no choice but to edge past him, the sweat on her body cooling in the air of the gallery. He stalked near her side, almost herding her into the Ahmanson Hall and up a small flight of steps. The tulle was sticking to her wobbly knees. She prayed she didn’t look as disoriented as she felt: Snoke was waiting for her, and she had to keep this, if anything else, a secret from him. Everything else had to be put out of her mind, compartmentalized, put aside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They walked down the middle of the dimly lit hall, passing glowing diagrams of solar eclipses and moon phases, until Kylo came to a halt near the end. “She’s here, sir,” he said stiffly, and Rey blinked: a man was standing in the center of the exhibit, hands clasped in front of him, looking at a projection of the sun that glowed like fire. He was alone. The man himself was balding, old: he could have been anywhere from sixty to eighty, dressed in a black suit, threaded with gold: he had on a gold tie, gold cufflinks, and a gold pocket square. Rey reached into her clutch as quietly as she could and fumbled with her phone before looking back up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” he said without moving. “I do like this exhibit. You know, this is a live image of the sun?” He gestured toward the glowing ball behind the gleaming glass panels. “The giver of warmth, life, bestowing its heat and light on all. More people have seen the face of the sun live, reflected here, than anywhere else on Earth. We do have such a fascination with heavenly bodies, don’t we, Miss Niima?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey didn’t know what to make of him. Kylo pressed his hand to her back, urging her forward, and she took a few reluctant steps. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” mused Snoke, tilting his head, “people have always followed the trajectory of stars. Mapping them. Charting them. Believing that their positions have some effect on the behaviors of humans. Fascination… and worship, of course. Angels, constellations, gods. Heaven is the glory of mystery, and earth the mundane. But you and I both know, Miss Niima, that a star falling from heaven to earth can be anything. A falling angel, or… a little girl with too much enthusiasm and not enough sense.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey’s mouth was as dry as a bone. “All stars have to burn out eventually,” she said as calmly as she could, and felt Kylo tense up behind her. “Even the sun will die.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Snoke turned to look at her then, and she refused to look away. “I suppose you think you were clever, hiding from us. Little journalist, harboring a secret talent for songwriting?” She swallowed, and his old face crinkled into a warm smile. “Yes. Kylo Ren told me everything. Don’t bother your head about it. Such an insistent little menace, this one— wanted you to get money for your work on the song that I have to thank for the massive boost in publicity. Money! Ha!” Rey didn’t know what to do, so she smiled along thinly as he chuckled to himself, then straightened her face out as he sighed. “But I have something better to offer. You, Miss Niima— or should I say, really, Miss Johnson— are more than welcome to consider a full time writing job with Empire, if you’d like.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her vision swam for a moment, and Rey caught her breath. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>writing job</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the most powerful music company in almost the whole world? “Like, like songwriting, or—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Songwriting. You’d get credit for every song you had a hand in creating, a very generous salary, and a flexible schedule.” He smiled again. “If only someone had told me immediately who you were, I would have snapped you up in a heartbeat. What an opportunity! Rebranding your embarrassing past into something… more empowered. Successful. Self-made. You’d be surrounded by stars, vocal artists clamoring for one of your songs tomorrow if you took me up on my offer today— I’ve already gotten about a thousand phone calls from various agents begging me to tell them who wrote ‘Kill Me With Your Love’ so they can steal you away to collaborate.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You… you want me to write songs,” whispered Rey, starstruck. Floating. She had thought— she’d thought she’d be in </span>
  <em>
    <span>trouble,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but this was an offer beyond her wildest dreams. She’d have an apartment, or even a house, in Los Angeles: she’d be able to pursue what she loved most of all. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Music. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course, First Order’s talent would get the opportunity first. I do play favorites.” Snoke smiled and extended a hand. “Wouldn’t you like to work with her again, Kylo?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo. She’d almost forgotten about Kylo. He was still standing just behind her and to the left, hulking, a dark shadow cowled in black. “Yes, sir,” he said blankly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t do anything stupid, don’t tell him anything. </span>
  </em>
  <span>If Kylo had lied to her, what else was he lying about? Maybe Snoke was a totally normal manager. Amilyn had said she knew what the industry was like. Rey found herself weighing the downside of being given uppers on occasion against literally being handed her childhood dream on a golden plate, tempting and free and </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the taking, and suddenly found herself thinking </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe it wouldn’t be that bad after all. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wait. No. That wasn’t a place she was willing to go: couldn't be. <em>Remember that manager, remember the carpet and that shitty glass table.</em> “I… I’d have to think about it,” Rey managed, unsure of herself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” said Snoke, voice still warm. “I see. Likely a shock to be offered such a thing. Understood. Kylo, come here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without a word, Kylo walked forward to stand in front of Snoke. He stood a head higher than the man in his thick-soled boots, and Snoke eyed him up with a look Rey wasn’t sure she liked. “Yes, sir.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kneel.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo didn’t even hesitate. He knelt on the marble floor, the black velvet spreading out in an inky pool around him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Take off that ridiculous thing on your face.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo raised his hands and removed the crown and attached mask with almost robotic movements, resting it on the ground carefully. Behind the mask, he still looked almost ill: dark shadows beneath his red-rimmed eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey had just enough time to think </span>
  <em>
    <span>something isn’t right</span>
  </em>
  <span> before Snoke’s left fist, heavy with a gold ring, flashed out and cracked Kylo Ren down across the face, smashing into his cheek. Kylo was big, but Snoke was wiry and strong, and the blow had caught him off guard. It knocked the younger man to his side, gasping as blood streaked the marble below his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t move. Couldn’t move. She just stood there in horror as Snoke pulled out his gold pocket square and wiped his hand with as much concern as if he’d just gotten some dirt on his fingers. “Now,” he said, putting the square away as Kylo raised himself up by his hands, wheezing quietly and drooling blood, “let’s talk business, Miss Niima. You turn down my very generous offer, and I promise you I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> expose your humiliating past to Rolling Stone in the worst way possible. You will never work again. You will never write again. You’ll be the laughingstock of the industry, and I will </span>
  <em>
    <span>bury</span>
  </em>
  <span> your little song after this tour so deeply that it will be forgotten by the next news cycle.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey understood why Hux was so afraid of this man, then: why Kylo was, too— he was vicious, and nasty, and played dirty when he wanted something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was fine. She knew how to play dirty, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wonder,” she said aloud, trying very hard not to look at Kylo as he hauled himself back up to his knees, “what the public might be more interested in: a random Rolling Stone writer’s past as a flash-in-the-pan annoying YouTube phenomenon… or Kylo Ren’s true name and family.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Snoke did not move for a moment. The only sounds were Kylo’s soft noises of pain as Snoke stared at Rey with cold, pale eyes that seemed so leached of color in the dim hall that they might have been chips of ice. “You’re bluffing,” he decided finally, a smirk lifting a corner of his mouth. “That information is under four layers of non-disclosure agreements, locked in a bank vault in Sacramento. There’s no way </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> found out First Order’s best kept secret.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sure. Whatever you say,” said Rey flippantly, and turned to Kylo, who was swaying slightly, focused on her with something like horror in his eyes. “How’s your mouth, Ben?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Snoke’s eyes widened fractionally before he crossed the space between them in a lunge and gripped her by the throat. Rey, taken off guard, spluttered as he shook her like a dog shakes a rat. He smelled like old cologne and musty leather and rot. “You little </span>
  <em>
    <span>bitch,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he snarled, and whirled, still gripping her, to face Kylo, who was struggling to get up. “You told her! You </span>
  <em>
    <span>told her</span>
  </em>
  <span> your name!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Kylo managed, shaking his head wildly, “no, sir, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I didn’t—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Liar! You </span>
  <em>
    <span>liar!</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’ll end the leases on your fucking apartments for this, you ingrate!” he roared. “I’ll end your </span>
  <em>
    <span>career!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t— he </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>—” Rey choked, scrabbling at the man’s hands. He was built like wire and steel, and the fingers wrapped around her neck were immovable. “Found out. Myself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You expect me to believe </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> found that out all on your own?” snarled Snoke. He released her throat and yanked her around by the hair, shoving her towards Kylo, who had gotten to his feet, shoulders hunched forward in misery as he watched. “You, a pathetic excuse for a journalist? Did you really think we requested you to interview him because of an idiotic puff piece on Korean pop bands?" Kylo's eyes met hers, and he couldn't look away, frozen, horror all over his face. Snoke laughed nastily. "Oh, I see. You think you’re in love with her, don’t you?” He yanked her by the scalp and Rey yelped, coughing and trying to free her hair from his hands as he dragged her backwards, out of the hall, and Kylo followed like a man hypnotized. “Well. Nothing I hate more than a loose end— apart from loose lips.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” Kylo said numbly, stumbling after them, and Rey knew he had to be on some combination of uppers and sedatives— either that or something weird: he was uncoordinated, hands loose, eyes wild. “Don’t, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please…</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kylo, Kylo, Kylo,” Snoke said, clicking his tongue as they entered the central rotunda again. Rey looked around wildly, intending to scream for help, but a hand clapped over her mouth put a stop to that, and besides, the speeches had already started up in the planetarium, the doors shut, the marble halls silent. Her heels skidded on the marble floor: above, all she could see were pale, flat paintings. Atlas was up there, holding up the Zodiac signs, and she could only hear Kylo’s labored breathing as Snoke pulled her to the edge of the circular rail that walled off the pit where the Foucault pendulum swung in its slow, endless cadence, side to side. “I have done my best, boy, but you— you still have that stubborn, infernal spark of rebellion I have tried time and time again to </span>
  <em>
    <span>help</span>
  </em>
  <span> you with.” Rey’s back was digging into the rail. Snoke leaned down, pushing her back so that her feet lifted off the floor. She was looking at the moon overhead, an ugly, nineteen-thirties brutalist moon with a comet streaking past it, and she was going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fall</span>
  </em>
  <span> into the pit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not even a good painting. I’m going to die staring at an ugly painting. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miss Niima,” Snoke said softly in her ear. “Do you know how much that bronze ball weighs?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” she whispered, gripping his wrinkled hand in terror.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Two hundred and forty pounds. What do you think will happen when you fall into its path? That’s a ten foot drop to solid marble, and I do intend to push you face-first.” He sounded as if he was enjoying this. She fought to keep herself calm and not tip over backward. She couldn’t see Kylo anymore. “But if the fall doesn’t break your neck, then I suppose I can look forward to the bronze ball crushing your empty little head, can’t I?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not going to win,” she rasped, looking him dead in the face. “Even if you kill me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughed, dry and rattling. “My dear Miss Niima,” he said, “if you must learn one thing before you die, make it this: I am unbeatable.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey didn’t have time for a retort. Something huge rammed into both of them, sending them both sprawling to the floor, and Snoke picked himself up, disheveled and stunned as Kylo Ren, still unsteady on his feet, pulled himself up by the rail and spread into a defensive, hunched stance, glaring at him through locks of dark hair. “You. Don’t. Touch. Her.” Rey got up, freed, and scrambled frantically behind Kylo, half-hiding, and out of reach, away from that god-awful pit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Snoke looked like a toad, swelling up with rage. “Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span> interfere with this! I’m fixing your problem, Kylo— she </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows your name, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she’ll tell everyone in that article of hers if we don’t put a stop to it! I have told you a thousand times that the media is good for nothing but ruination and lies!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rey. Go. Run.” The words were addressed to her, but Kylo’s eyes were focused on Snoke. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where am I supposed to run to? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey took a step back and decided the stairs to the bottom levels would be the best bet. She turned and raced for them as fast as she could, and Snoke was too slow to catch her. He shouted in anger, the cry fading as her heels clacked on the marble, but as she skidded around the corner to the right, two black-suited security guards wearing red pins in their lapels stopped her. She recognized the pins: the red spearhead of Empire Records. </span>
  <em>
    <span>These guys are much scarier looking than Phasma’s teams.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me through,” she demanded, mouth dry with fear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, ma’am,” said one, short and gruff. “You better go turn around and use the front doors. Bottom levels are off-limits unless you’re a VIP.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t go back into that damn rotunda,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought crazily, turning around. There were emergency exits, but setting off an alarm would draw too much attention. Her whole mind focused into one bright, clear point: </span>
  <em>
    <span>get out! Get out! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Finn and Poe were somewhere: all she had to do was find them and she’d be out of here in no time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Kylo was still in there, and her phone was still in her clutch, and Snoke…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you get someone into the planetarium and let Phasma from First Order Management know that there’s a security problem in the, um, rotunda?” she asked. If Phasma left the room, Poe and Finn would know something was wrong, and they’d follow her out, and maybe...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” said one of the guards, and the other one gave her a quizzical look as the first one spoke quietly into his earpiece.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey nodded tightly. “Thanks. I’ll go find a back door.” She swallowed hard and turned back, creeping as quietly as she could along the floor back to the rotunda, so quietly that she could hear Snoke speaking in low, gentle tones as she reached the arch leading into the main room again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Phasma, where are you?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There. You see? It’s so much more pleasant when you just </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me. You must understand, Kylo, that I am only ever looking out for your wellbeing.” She peeked around the corner and saw, to her shock, that Kylo was kneeling, legs spread wide and loose and heavy, his head resting against the rails, gazing up at Snoke, who was putting a small, clear, orange bottle back into his pocket. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Drugs, he’s giving him something. A sedative? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“You feel better now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” answered Kylo, eyes fluttering shut. The blood on his mouth gleamed in the light as his chest heaved. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good.” Snoke crouched. “Look at me, boy. That’s it. You know I hate doing this to you, don’t you?” His tone had changed, becoming fatherly, gentle, endearing. Rey shuddered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Kylo said, voice cracking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The gentle, paternal voice continued. “I hate having to give you Ativan. I hate to see you like this. Strung out. Like a junkie. It breaks my heart. But you can’t just start threatening me like this. You have to get a handle on this psychotic behavior, or you’ll tear apart everything we built together for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought… I thought…” Kylo’s eyes were slipping from side to side, his chest rising and falling in deep breaths. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter what you think, Kylo,” said Snoke softly, patting his shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No one wants to know what’s in his head. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The lines of the poem came back, and Rey realized with a stab of regret that he’d been trying to tell her something all along, give her clues to— what? All this? Snoke’s bullshit? His mind?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whatever it was, it didn’t matter anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let’s kill something. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stepped forward, the panic in her body evaporated and solidified into a diamond-bright resolve. “It does matter what he thinks,” she said loudly, wielding her Jimmy Choo like a weapon, and Snoke jumped, startled, which gave her some small gratification. “I care. You don’t. You don’t care, you don’t care about anything but money and power. You’re a sad, empty old man with nothing. Nothing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Snoke got to his feet and turned on her, blocking out her view of Kylo. “You should have run when you had the chance,” he spat, and reached into his pocket, fumbling for something. “You’ve miscalculated for the last time, Miss Niima.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey swung her shoe at him out of instinct as he lunged at her, and the heel caught his cheek, digging a scarlet furrow through his face. And then Snoke just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>stopped,</span>
  </em>
  <span> frozen in his tracks as he struggled to grab the item in his pocket. Kylo Ren’s figure loomed up behind him, black and massive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Kylo. His eyes were half-focused as he gripped Snoke by the back of the collar, but every word was as clear and firm as daylight. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You</span>
  </em>
  <span> miscalculated. I choose her over this bullshit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey had only a minute to understand what he’d said before Snoke turned on him, and they began to scuffle, struggling, gasping, fighting— she turned and saw Poe and Finn, running into the rotunda down the stairs as fast as they could, jackets off and pointing, shouting— she turned back and saw Kylo and Snoke at the edge of the rail, and then Snoke finally pulled the thing out of his pocket.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Small, weighty, compact. It was a pistol.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey screamed, the cry echoing off the marble, and Kylo lifted Snoke up as if he was nothing, his hips passing the rail— his center of gravity suddenly slipped past the metal bar. Kylo, unable to hold on due to the effects of the sedative, lost his grip. Snoke was hurtling over and down, black and gold suit disappearing as Kylo caught himself, leaning on the bar and gasping.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a sickening crunch, a heavy thud like an overripe melon hitting a road in summer. Rey sank to her knees, willing herself to not be sick as Kylo collapsed to the floor on all fours and Finn came rushing toward them both, panic in his voice as he tried to lift her up. Poe skidded up and gaped over the rail, looking green, then turned away to pull out his phone. More footsteps were coming down the steps. Finn was still crying out into her face, “Rey! Rey! Shit, what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> are you okay—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” she said, fighting Finn weakly. “No, no, call— call the police. We have to call the police.” Wasn’t that what you did when someone died? Call the police? Was he even dead? The thought of a still living Snoke with half a head sprang into her mind, and she stifled another gag. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finn shook his head, looking ashen as he glanced away. “Poe’s calling now, that security lady is on her way, it’ll be okay—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo laboriously half-crawled, half-staggered over to her, and she broke free of Finn’s hands and fell into him, shaking so badly she couldn’t speak as she tried to get past him to the rail.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” Kylo said, on his knees, pulling her away from the edge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have to see, I need to know he’s—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s dead,” said Kylo as she sank down, gripping her upper arms tight. “Trust me. He’s very, very dead. Don’t look at him. Look... look at me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You told him,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>told him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and you lied to me, and you, you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” said Kylo, gulping down breaths. “Yeah. I did. I did all that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you were about to let him </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill me,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she sobbed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he told her. His voice sounded strangely labored, as if every word was an effort to get out. “No. I would never have let him kill you. If you, if you think I’m a piece of shit, that’s fine, I can live with that, but I— I want you to know that. He was never going to get to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” said Poe flatly, staring at them. “Do I, uh, do you two need to have a conversation or something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Rey firmly, refusing to look Kylo in the eye as Mitaka and Phasma came bursting into the room at full-tilt speed, followed by security guards from Empire. The full enormity of what had just happened crashed past her mental barrier of shock: Empire’s billion dollar records executive was dead at the bottom of a hole in the floor, and she was probably going to be dragged to court for everything she owned. “Oh, god. Get me out of here. Please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Niima!” bellowed Phasma, looking furious. She made it to the pendulum and looked over the edge, covering her mouth in distaste as her expression melted away from anger to horror. “What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> happened—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s dead,” said Kylo flatly, releasing Rey and hauling himself up by the rail, standing on unsteady feet. “He tried to shoot us. I couldn’t hold on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey staggered to her feet, too. Something about the way Kylo was standing didn’t look quite right. “He gave him some kind of— Ativan, I think he said. Kylo?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo Ren turned on his foot and gave her a look, his eyes glazing over. “I couldn’t... hold on,” he repeated faintly, then crumpled to the ground in a heap of black, unconscious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ben!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> screamed Rey, horrified as he fell and frozen in place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phasma cursed and threw herself down next to him, listening to his breathing and searching for his pulse. “You!” she barked at Poe, who was standing frozen holding his phone to his ear. “Are you still on the line with emergency services?” She rolled Kylo to his back and yanked his clothes open, exposing his bare chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell them we need an ambulance </span>
  <em>
    <span>now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s not breathing,” she demanded, and Poe relayed the information as Phasma locked her elbows and started chest compressions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, God, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” gasped Rey, who forgot she’d wanted nothing more than to run for the door a moment ago, and scrambled to his side, tilting Kylo’s face up and clearing his airway before pinching his nose shut and pulling his mouth open. Phasma gave her a look. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know CPR?” she asked between brutal thrusts to Kylo’s sternum. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, took a course ages ago,” said Rey, sealing her mouth over Kylo’s. She blew deeply, watching his chest rise. “Two per thirty?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fifteen,” said Phasma, nodding sharply. “Mitaka, call the board </span>
  <em>
    <span>now.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The other man nodded, looking ashen, and started yanking out phones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll count,” Finn said, kneeling down and looking at his watch. “Poe, you stay on the line until they get here. He doesn’t look good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey kept slowly, evenly breathing for him, the sounds of Phasma’s grunting and Finn’s soft voice counting every compression making a gruesome rhythm that seemed to stretch on forever. “Don’t die,” she gasped every time she came up for air, breathing and breathing into a mouth that seemed colder every time she touched it with hers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t die, don’t die, don’t die. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was a mantra, a desperate chorus, a prayer: she couldn’t shove this away out of her mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Breathe, breathe, damn it, why won’t you breathe?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A voice, nasal and clipped, interrupted Finn’s counting. “What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> is going on down here?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck off!” shouted Phasma, focused completely on her chest compressions. Sweat was beginning to trickle down her forehead, staining her blond hair dark. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span> you talk to me like that!” Hux’s footsteps echoed closer, furious and purposeful. “Snoke </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> hear about th—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey laughed through her tears as she came up. She couldn’t help it: the whole situation was just so absurd. “You tell him whatever the fuck you want, pal,” she said, watching Kylo’s chest fall again. “He’s at the bottom of that thing. Go for it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t even look up to see the expression on Hux’s face when he made a choked sound of shock and horror as he finally realized what was happening. What had happened. It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter: all that mattered was trying to keep the man in her hands alive. Had the other band members come down? Who was gasping like that? Was that Carter's voice lifted in a wail of horror? It didn't matter. <em>Don't die. Don't die.</em></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When the ambulance comes,” said Phasma tightly, still thrusting down, “you call your fucking lawyer. You get a lawyer. A good one. You hear me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lawyer,” Rey echoed. “Yeah. I hear you.” She bent down again and breathed into Kylo’s mouth before bringing her face back up. “Don’t die, don’t die,” she begged. “Oh, God, don’t die.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ambulance rolled up, the blue and red lights flashing the marble walls in muted echoes as the paramedics stormed the building and lifted the still-unconscious form of Kylo Ren onto an orange board, someone injecting him with something, someone else holding a mask to his mouth and nose. Shouting, running, calling. Hux wandered around, mouth agape. The rest of the band had been shuttled off by the police and taken in for questioning, but not before Umar squared off and punched Hux in the mouth with a snarled "you know why", knocking the manager off his feet and splitting his lip. Without Snoke, he had no one to call but the rest of the directors, and Mitaka had already done that, so he just stood around uselessly as the guests and attendees filed out of the planetarium and watched everything happen. There was no one left to tell him what to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey watched them take Kylo away and stumbled out into the dewy summer night, following them, as if she didn’t have control of her body anymore. Finn and Poe were talking to police officers, and someone was asking her questions she couldn’t understand. She was so tired. Why couldn’t they just let her go home?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s all over. It was like a dream, a pretty dream, a nightmare and it’s… gone. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her phone buzzed, and she looked down disinterestedly, only to see that the audio recording app she’d activated before speaking to Snoke was still faithfully picking up everything. She turned it off and answered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Rey?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was Amilyn, and Rey couldn’t even cry: there was no more space for emotion in her body. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Rey, I heard what happened, Poe called me. Are you okay?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to go home,” she said, sounding much more fragile than she felt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Go with Poe and Finn, okay? We’re going to meet you at a hotel. There’s a lot going on. Empire has already filed a lawsuit against Rolling Stone, and we have to respond in the state of California  by Friday or…”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her voice faded into Rey’s mind: background babble, meaningless, the sad trombone noise that adults had in the Charlie Brown cartoons she remembered watching as a child. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bwaa-wa-waa. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey stumbled barefoot across the grass (her heels had been taken into police custody as evidence) and hugged Finn as tightly as she could as he turned to face her. He felt so warm and solid and </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Amilyn’s talking to me,” she said dimly, letting go of him and showing him the phone, and Finn looked at her strangely and took it, speaking. That was good: someone else could handle this shit for a second. Rey sat down on the grass and watched as the ambulance sped off towards the city with two police cars as an escort, the sirens wailing their song as they disappeared over the rise.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. XIII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw for addiction recovery: vomiting, drug mentions, suicidal ideation</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Benjamin? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was so, so tired, and he felt like shit. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Let me sleep. Fuck, let me sleep. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Benjamin. Wake up, honey. You’ll be late for school. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was his mother, or maybe a memory of his mother, a dream— he hadn’t been in school since he was eighteen. His half-awake mind conjured a picture: the beautiful old house in Virginia, sunlight coming through the curtains of his bedroom, the warm wood of his guitar gleaming, his drumsticks hanging right where they belonged. Everything had a place there. Everything had a place to stay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything but him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something was chirping. Birds outside the window, maybe, but he was cold, and the chirps were too rigid, not organic enough to be birds. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tweep! Tweep! Tweep!</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He opened his eyes. They felt as heavy as lead, but he could see: he was in a blurry, white place that solidified and clarified as he blinked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A hospital. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There was a pulse monitor attached to his index finger, and he had blankets covering him to the chin: he was still cold, and couldn’t stop shivering. The chirping wasn’t birds; it was the screen measuring his vitals. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Beep! Beep! Beep!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mom?” he croaked, blinking. His chest and throat hurt: a deep, solid ache, and he was shivering. He felt like he might throw up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A face swam in front of his eyes: it was a stranger, a woman he didn’t know… but he did know her, didn’t he? Younger, maybe, before her hair had been dyed a soft blonde balayage and crow’s feet had started to gather around her blue-green eyes. He’d know that distinctive smile anywhere, though. “Ben? Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonderful. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’ll tell them you’re awake. You don’t have to worry about a single thing, honey. You just rest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aunt Ammy?” he gasped, raspy and hoarse, but she was already gone, hurrying out the door: he heard it shut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, with some difficulty, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re in the hospital, and your aunt that you haven’t seen in a decade is here. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That was concerning. As he usually did when he found himself in baffling situations upon waking up, he tried to remember the last thing he could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There had been a party, hadn’t there? A party, and dinner, and he had… gone after Rey. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rey.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The memory of her made him want to get up, but he couldn’t: he’d been strapped down at the wrists and elbows, knee and ankle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why did they restrain me in the fucking bed? Where’s Rey?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Rey?” he shouted, hoarse and cracking. He was so thirsty, and he realized that he had to pee, too: there was an IV dripping into his arm and a bedpan under his hips. “Rey!” Where was she? He strained at the cuffs— if he could just get out of this bed— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A young nurse in light yellow scrubs came running in, eyes wide. “Sir! Sir, it’s okay, you’re fine. Calm down, please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I need Rey. My aunt, my aunt was here—” He couldn’t stop the choked sobs from escaping his throat. “My </span>
  <em>
    <span>aunt</span>
  </em>
  <span> was here, something’s wrong. Is my mother dead?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” The nurse pressed a gentle hand to his chest and got him back down. “No, sir. Your mother is waiting outside in the hall. Just take a few deep breaths, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell me what’s happening,” he gasped, unable to wipe his face as tears streamed down his cheeks. He could barely think clearly: he knew Amilyn was his mother’s executor: had something terrible happened? “Something’s— did I overdose on something? I don’t remember anything, just a, a fundraiser event, and a… there was a fight or something, and a gun—” His voice didn’t sound right at all: it was raspy and throaty and ruined. He coughed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been here at Cedars-Sinai for about a month,” said the nurse calmly. Her ID said her name was Kay, and he began to relax a little as she spoke. “You were in a coma for about a week and intubated due to a combination of substances really, ah, doing a number on you, but you’ve been in and out of consciousness for the past two. Do you remember waking up and walking to the restroom yesterday? We took your catheter out and everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said, shaken. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s fine. Sometimes you don’t register things when you’re coming out of a coma. But you’re fine. Your mother and her friend are outside, waiting.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why am I restrained?” he asked, rolling his head from side to side to look down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kay nodded. “Oh, you came out of it last night again and started trying to pull your IV needles out. It happens. We had to give you a mild sedative and restrain you so you didn’t hurt yourself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I… go to the bathroom?” he whispered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure, if you can sit up. Here.” She walked to his side and unhooked him from the machines, leaving in his IV, and helped him sit. It wasn’t difficult, but it felt weird, and he waited for a moment, shivering. “Any nausea?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. What’s wrong with my voice?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s from the ventilator. It will go back to normal eventually.” Kay wrote something on her clipboard. “Do you feel like you could stand? Want to try?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He did. The hospital gown was ludicrously small on him, barely covering his upper thighs, but Kay, who clearly had done this before, was an utter professional as she helped him to the toilet, helped him pee, helped him wash his hands, and helped him back to the bed. “Why am I so cold?” he asked, shivering again as he sank down on the bed and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders with clumsy hands. The trip to the bathroom had drained him: he felt like his body wasn't his, but that of some frail old man. “And why does my chest hurt?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re experiencing some withdrawals,” said Kay, checking her chart. “Sweating, vomiting, chills— all normal. Your sternum and a rib were cracked when you were undergoing emergency chest compressions, but it’s healing. We couldn’t get a straight, full answer out of anyone, although we knew bits and pieces—we’ve been slowly weaning you off whatever narcotics you were taking with gradually smaller amounts of morphine—what exactly have you been taking recently? We just need to know so we can get a recovery plan for you worked out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Recovery plan. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He gulped in a breath and tried to focus. She was waiting: non-judgmental, patient, professional. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s not going to judge me. It’ll be okay. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“A lot of alcohol,” he started, shutting his eyes so he wouldn’t start crying. “I used to— binge drink a lot, before I quit last year, but I started again recently. Like. Six shots a night, every night, type of drinking. What else. Uh, bennies. Valium. Methamphetamines. And… opiates, but I don’t think I’m addicted to those. Plus Ativan, a couple times— big doses. And— and—” He could barely bring himself to say it. “Cocaine. Occasionally.” His stomach roiled. “That’s a lie. Frequently. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I see.” Kay scribbled on her paper, nodding. “So nothing out of the ordinary for around here in SoCal, huh?” She offered a friendly smile, and he felt like he was going to crumple like tinfoil: this was nothing like what he’d thought it would be. “If you have to vomit, use this.” She handed him a peach-colored plastic basin. “Also, sorry in advance about the, uh, legal name use. We were told it might not be appropriate because of your stage persona and right to privacy, but—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Legal name,” he echoed, shutting his eyes and throwing up as quietly and neatly as he could into the basin. “Can I… see it?” he asked, raising his head when he was done, eyes watering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” she said gently, and took his hand, turning his wrist over so he could see the plastic wristband and the name printed there: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Solo, Benjamin Christopher. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His eyes prickled with heat, and he took a soft, ragged breath as he touched the plastic, working his finger underneath it and twisting it gently around his wrist. “I haven’t seen it printed in… years,” he explained, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand as tears spilled down his cheeks. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing to be sorry for. Ms. Niima explained most of it, and we got the footnotes from the lawsuit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lawsuit?” he echoed, baffled. “Wait, Niima— Rey? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rey</span>
  </em>
  <span> was here?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kay nodded. “Oh, yes. When she wasn’t out and taking the witness stand in court. It’s been a media circus. You don’t have to worry about that, though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is she here now?” he asked, fear coiling in his gut along with the bile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm-hm. Waiting with your mother, I think. Do you want to see her?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said quickly, unable to stop his hands from trembling. “No, just— just— my aunt. I mean. Holdo, Amilyn Holdo. If she’s here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” said Kay kindly, and helped tuck his feet back into the blankets before leaving. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben sat there, shivering, and shut his eyes. The thought of Rey seeing him like this was unbearable: he’d seen a glimpse of his face in the mirror over the sink, and it was almost unrecognizable. He had lost weight in here, and his beard had grown out— and it wasn’t like he was ever able to grow a real beard anyway, so he was left with a straggly moustache and a scattered growth of sparse black hair along his jaw, most of it only growing on his chin. If that wasn’t bad enough, he had cracked, dry lips and dark shadows under his lifeless eyes. He didn’t look like himself anymore: he looked like a fucked up homeless man wearing Ben Solo’s name. </span>
  <span>No, Rey didn't need to see this. Memory streamed back: her stubbornness, her determination, her unwillingness to back down in the face of practically anything, even threats to her life. Those black-rimmed glasses, her soft chestnut hair, her bright, dazzling smile. <em> I’ve hurt her enough already. Hurt enough people already.</em></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door opened, and in came Aunt Amilyn, smiling gently. “Ben,” she said, and sat down by his side. “It’s been so long. How are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t make words come out. His throat caught, and a broken sob escaped, sounding hoarse and ragged and nothing like him— but Amilyn just sat there, her hand covering his firmly as he cried and cried like he’d never stop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, he had to stop at some point, so he did, and she handed him a Kleenex to wipe his face with. “I think the security guard out there is probably sick of me popping in and out all over the place,” she said lightly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Security?” he rasped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right. Let’s catch you up.” She sat back and took a deep breath, the expression that Mom had always called her Editor Face settling in over her, and she began to tell him everything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had collapsed from the combined effects of an almost-lethal dose of Ativan after Jeremiah Snoke had met his end. He’d been taken to Cedars-Sinai as fast as possible due to the actions of Phasma, someone named Poe Dameron, and Rey, where he had been put on a ventilator, and all the witnesses to the event had been questioned by police. Empire Records had demanded he be arrested on a murder charge, and filed a wrongful death lawsuit in which they’d attempted to implicate Rey Niima, Phasma, and Ben in the death of Snoke, claiming it had been first degree murder. Amilyn had gotten the best lawyers in New York to fly out to Los Angeles and represent them, and as it had happened, Rey Niima, ever the intrepid journalist, had recorded the entire conversation between Snoke, himself, and her, up to the point that the ambulance had driven away. It had been played in court, and the judge had declared there was no foul play in the death of Snoke, and that Ben had killed him in self-defense— even stating that Snoke’s own actions in overdosing Ben with a powerful benzodiazepine had led to his own death. The Empire lawyers were attempting to sue again, this time in New York, but Amilyn didn’t think they had much of a legal leg to stand on, especially after the whole mess had been splashed across the headlines for the better part of a month and “#FREEKYLOREN” had been trending on Twitter for three weeks straight, with overwhelming support for him in the eyes of the public.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The suit had brought some of the nastier practices used by the company on its talent to light, too— everyone’s contracts were being examined by DC lawyers that Ben’s mother had gotten to audit the company by an emergency act of Congress, citing a massive human rights breach. After Empire had lost the suit, Rey Niima had been awarded a sum of five hundred thousand dollars by the court’s order, to be paid directly by Empire Records, and so had Phasma, who apparently had immediately started chest compressions after seeing him collapse, and who had been caught on Rey’s recording doing everything she could to help. A 24-hour guard had been posted outside Ben’s hospital room, and here they were: the main trial had ended a few days ago, and now all that remained was recovery, making sure Empire didn’t try anything underhanded, tying up the loose ends, and deciding what to do next.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should have heard it,” said Amilyn, pausing for breath. “The jury deliberated for about ten minutes before declaring they didn’t find you, Rey, or Ms. Phasma guilty. You can hear Rey screaming your name when you hit the ground, and when Phasma was doing compressions, Rey was breathing for you. Every couple of seconds you’d hear silence, and then you’d hear her crying </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t die</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Over and over again. But she also caught Snoke on the recording referring to giving you Ativan, so that was a huge help in the judge’s decision to find you not guilty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t die. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ben could feel his hands trembling, and he shivered violently. “Aunt Ammy,” he muttered, unable to slow his breathing. “I can’t… see my mom like this. Or Rey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amilyn’s eyes softened. “I understand. But they both want to see you very much, and your mother— she especially wants to see you. And she understands that you’re not well, Ben. She’s done so much lobbying for protecting people suffering from substance abuse—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can say </span>
  <em>
    <span>addict,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he said dryly, and grabbed the basin again, heaving into it. “Fuck. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He gagged and wiped his mouth, and Amilyn took the basin to empty it in the bathroom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are not an addict,” she said, coming back into the room with those cool blue-green eyes he remembered so well. “You’re a human being. You’re not dirty, and you’re not lesser than anyone who doesn’t have the same issues you struggle with. Do you understand me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He swallowed. “Yeah,” he croaked. “But it’s not— I don’t want my mom’s first impression of me after ten fucking years to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>this,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” and he gestured with shaking hands at his body, his hospital gown, his ragged beard, the puke bucket. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sweetie, she wouldn’t care if you’d lost your left leg or shaved yourself bald. You’re her son.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I fucked up— Rey, I fucked her up,” he said, more tears coming to his eyes. “Shit. Did she even tell you about—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hux and that party? Yes. That’s being settled out of court.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I blacked out drinking in Charleston,” he continued. His voice was sore, but he couldn’t stop. “I honest to God blacked out and threw up in my sleep and Rey saved my fucking life. I bet she didn’t tell you about that. I— I ruin everything I touch, every person I c-care about, and I just— it would be better if I was fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He dragged his hand down his face, trying to smear the tears off his cheeks, but more fell to replace them. "I've lost everything."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Amilyn, taking his hand. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ben. You have people who care about you, who love you— you have the chance for a new start, a new life. This isn’t your end. It’s your new beginning.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t answer her. He was crying too hard. She pulled him into a tight hug like she had done when he was a kid, and rubbed his back gently until he stopped crying again: </span>
  <em>
    <span>who the hell cries this much?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, disgusted with himself. “I can’t fuck anyone else up. Not anymore.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t fucked anyone up,” said Amilyn calmly. “You— Ben, honey. You and all the other members were trapped in a bullshit contract by an abusive old man who did everything in his power to force you all to be dependent on him and his company for </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m— it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>weak,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he managed. “Weak, I was weak and stupid and, and what grown fucking man lets someone treat him like that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All kinds,” answered Amilyn. “You’re not alone in that, Ben. And it’s okay: we can get you a therapist—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need a fucking therapist,” he gasped, feeling like he was going to be sick again. “I don’t. The others don’t need a therapist. They just—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The other members of KORE? Honey, they’ve all checked themselves into outpatient facilities already.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That brought him up short. “What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. All of them took sabbaticals while the lawyers are re-examining their contracts. They’re in rehab, therapy, you name it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But they were strong, and I was a fucking mess,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, bewildered. He couldn’t imagine Trix voluntarily walking into any kind of rehab center… and then he remembered the things Hux had forced them all to do, and maybe, actually, that wouldn’t be out of character for Trix or any of them after all. “Are they going to sue Empire?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They have grounds. They’re definitely owed damages. We’ll see. You might, too. See? Reasons to hang around.” She squeezed his shoulder, and he nodded, eyes closed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna puke again. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here,” she said, and held the basin until he was done, dry-heaving. “I understand if you don’t want to see your mother right now, or Rey. But I think they want to be here for you, and I think you might get some catharsis if you speak to them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben shut his eyes. “Rey first, if— if she wants to see me,” he managed, memory streaming back: the frantic, clumsy half-hookup in the closet, her face after he’d used her and lied and hurt her—because maybe, after so long, he didn’t know any other way to show love. Tears blurred his vision. “Just— warn her, okay?” She would be upset, obviously, because she would have had a long time to think about what a colossal fucking asshole he’d been to her, and he’d agree with her when she rained fire and fury down on his head, and she— she would go back to New York where she belonged and leave him here to build whatever new life he could patch together, and that would be fine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amilyn patted his hand. “She knows what you look like. She’s been here since day one, in and out, watching you. When I wasn’t, that is, or when your mother wasn’t. You haven’t been alone for a moment.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I haven’t been alone. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The thought made him want to burst into tears again. “Thanks,” he said instead, and scrubbed at his eyes, trying to stop his fingers from trembling as she left the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey jerked up, focused instantly on Amilyn as she exited Ben’s room between the two security guards. “He’d like to see you, Rey,” she said softly, and exchanged a look with Leia Organa-Solo, who was sitting by Rey and nursing a cold cup of tea. “If you want to see him, he says.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If I want to see him?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey gaped for a moment: she’d been there at his side for almost a month, she’d been in and out of court for weeks defending him on witness stands, she’d met his mother, hugged his mother, cried with his mother— what did he </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> she wanted? “Yes,” she said instantly, standing up and rubbing her eyes. She wished she wasn’t wearing a borrowed, oversized T-shirt of Finn’s and cutoffs. “Yes, I do—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fair warning,” said Amilyn, still looking at Leia, “he’s… not in the best place right now. Physically or mentally. Or emotionally.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s fine,” said Rey. “Nothing I haven’t seen already.” She remembered him lying still and waxy in the bed, a ventilator breathing for him as his eyes fluttered from time to time under their lids while she silently begged the universe to not let him die: whatever was waiting for her in the room couldn’t be worse than that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you get the opportunity,” said Leia, “tell him— well.” She rubbed her eyes and sighed. “You know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I will,” said Rey softly, and pushed the door open, edging inside and shutting it behind her, her back to the room. She took a deep breath, readying herself, and turned around.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylo— no, he wasn’t Kylo anymore, was he? He was just Ben— was covered in a hospital blanket and lying on his side, shivering violently, a pink plastic bucket curled up in his arms. He was thinner than she remembered, the hollows in his cheeks sharply defined, and his eyes were red and bleary as he blinked up at her. “Shit,” he said, and his voice sounded terrible. Like it had been dragged over broken glass, sandpaper, gravel. “I didn’t… think you’d be in for a minute.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why would I wait?” she asked, taking a step forward. He flinched and looked away, arms shaking, and her heart wrenched in pity. “I wanted to see you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t want you to see me. Not like this.” Ben shut his eyes and gagged, deep in his throat. “Stupid. Fucking—addict, withdrawals, this could last a week and I— you don’t need to see this shit—it shouldn’t be how you remember me—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not stupid,” Rey told him with some heat, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I look like shit, too. I had to borrow this T-shirt from Finn and I haven’t washed my clothes in a week. It’s been two days since I showered. I’ve been sleeping on the floor out there for, like, a day and a half. Maybe more. I lost count. I stink. And what do you mean, remember you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben gave a gurgling little laugh and groaned, bending over the basin as he got sick again. Rey reached out and rested her hand on his shoulder, and he shied away, flinching at the touch as he raised his head, gasping, tears tracking down his cheeks. “Don’t,” he choked, and she lifted her hand away, unsure of how to help. “Don’t do that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do what? Touch you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pity me,” he croaked, shutting his eyes. “Just— just hate me. It would be easier if you hated me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Rey blinked, baffled. “What do you mean? What would be easier?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tears were streaming out of his eyes, down his cheeks: his nose was running. “All of this. Talking. You leaving. I—I don’t, I can’t— I need help, Rey. I don’t know how to be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>person</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and you don’t, you need friends, good friends— not me. I’m barely a human fucking being anymore. So— you can go back to New York with Amilyn now—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey could barely believe her ears. “You...thought I came in here to </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave</span>
  </em>
  <span>? You thought, what, I came in here the second you woke up out of a goddamn coma to say, hey, Ben, now that you’re certified alive and talking, I’m going to sashay back to Manhattan? Are you serious?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was crying now, really crying in deep, hoarse, wracking sobs as the heartbeat monitor started chirping: his pulse was rising to over eighty beats a minute. “None of this is good for you,” he sobbed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> not good for you. I already got you hurt, and it was all my fucking fault, start to finish—it was all on </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey took the basin away and grabbed a tissue, wiping his mouth and handing him the box before she sat by his chest and ran her fingers through his hair. It was tangled, matted in spots and greasy, but just touching him and knowing he was alive was so, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Ben,” she said gently as his sobs died, his shaking hands wiping his face. “Do you want me to leave?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’d</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to leave,” he managed. There was sweat breaking out on his forehead. She wiped it off with her shirt. “I thought you’d—I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Are you gonna ask me what I want?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pair of bleary, wet, heartwood-colored eyes peered up at her. “What… what do you want?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want—” Rey took a deep breath. How many times had she thought about this, in the wake of the court cases? She’d held that half a million dollars in her hands and been dizzy with the sheer amount of money, and last she heard, she could be settling for even more depending on what Hux’s lawyers worked out with hers. Enough to pay for counseling, and buy a house somewhere quiet: enough to live off of while she really found herself again if she wanted to. But in all those possibilities she’d dreamed of, there wasn’t one that didn’t have Ben in it in some way. “I want to be in your life, Ben. I want you to be in mine, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben blinked. “What’s the catch?” he asked roughly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey gave him a look. “Who do you think I am? Snoke? There’s no catch. I— I want to help you, I want you to feel like a human being again, I want to still write music even if it doesn’t go anywhere. I want to feel like I have nothing to hide anymore. The— when I sang with you, on that stage in Denver, that was the most… I don’t know how to describe it. I’ve been trying to find the words to explain it. It was like everyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>saw</span>
  </em>
  <span> me, but not the bad parts of me, the embarrassing parts— the me I wanted to be. It was… wonderful. Exciting. And you were part of it, you were part of the most exhilarating moment of my life, and— so you’re stuck there. Woven into the… fabric of my life forever now. Even if you left my life, if you stayed here and we never spoke again, you’d still be… I don’t know. A vital point. A permanent mark on my life.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A black mark,” he said, eyes closed as he shivered. “Ugly. Sharpie marker. Here’s the fuckup, good luck erasing it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” she said softly, stroking his hair. “No. A bright point. Like a star. Navigation signal. To show where I turned on a new course.” Ben made a noise like he’d been punched in the gut and curled his body around hers where she sat, burying his face in her thigh as he shook. Whether it was from the withdrawals that wracked his body or from silent sobs, Rey didn’t know, but she wasn’t about to move. “I’ll ask if they can give you something to help you sleep—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said, harsh and ragged as he shook his head against her. “No. I don’t want anything. I want— I want to feel it. I want to feel everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey took a deep breath and exhaled. The pulse monitor was slowing gradually, his heartbeat easing down to a nice, calm 72 beats per minute. “Okay,” she told him, still finger-combing his hair. “Okay. I’ll be here the whole time, if you want me to be. I promise. The nurses are going to take care of you. Your mom— she’s out in the hall, and she’ll be here until you’re ready to talk to her. Amilyn has to go back to New York, though, and she’s really on my ass about getting that article done now that the lawsuit’s over. So if I’m sitting in here and just writing, don’t think I’m ignoring you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben sniffed hard and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I’d like that. Sorry I’m… getting snot all over you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve gotten worse than that on me,” she said lightly, and he coughed, a flush on his cheeks. “Oh. Shit, no, I meant the puke, not— well, that was bad, too, but—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We can, um. Shelve that conversation for when I don’t feel like I’m dying,” he rasped, stealing a glance up at her. “Okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, yeah. I’d— like to have a conversation about. That. Yeah.” Rey self-consciously rubbed her nose with her free hand. “Later. Do you want to talk to your mom?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. Not… yet. But if you— can you tell her—” Ben gagged again and Rey grabbed the basin, holding it under his mouth until he finished spitting the almost nonexistent contents of his stomach into it. “Just tell her,” he continued, eyes shut, “that I— I’m sorry. For everything. And I—I just don’t want her to see me like this.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I understand.” She set the basin aside. “I’ll tell her. You try to get some rest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben did not get rest, not for the first forty-eight hours: the chills and sweating and shaking would have kept him awake even if the insomnia hadn’t. The nurses explained it was common with alcohol withdrawals: his body had become used to the artificial depressive state and adjusted accordingly, and now without the alcohol to keep his system calm, his central nervous system was running overtime, so keyed up that his blood pressure was spiking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We would have prescribed benzodiazepines to help, but you’re… withdrawing from those, too,” said Kay, and gave a tight little smile, as if to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>what can you do?</span>
  </em>
  <span> They had put him in a better room, a more comfortable room with gentle mood lighting and a wide, soft bed and thicker blankets. He was getting three meals a day delivered, but he couldn’t keep anything down because of the nausea, so Rey ate them instead. He was still on an IV for fluids, and spent the days hunched over in his bed watching Netflix on the TV in his room like his life depended on it. He’d made it through the first couple episodes of </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt,</span>
  </em>
  <span> which he hadn’t watched, and clutched the blankets tightly around his shoulders as her cheerful, firm voice declared,</span>
  <em>
    <span> “I learned a long time ago that a person can stand just about anything for 10 seconds, then you just start on a new 10 seconds. All you’ve got to do is take it 10 seconds at a time.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And, sure, they had to turn off the show when Kimmy started drinking alcohol at the club, because he almost threw the remote through the window, but he thought that might work. So Ben counted, his head down, breathing through his nose, and Rey, sitting in her chair in the corner, watched his fingers twitch as he counted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can stand anything for ten seconds. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now I start again. Ten seconds at a time. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey texted Leia from her seat regularly as she edited and re-edited her article. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s about as well as you’d expect.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s doing a little better. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He almost smiled at a joke on TV!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s getting sick again. Sorry. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Leia, for her part, texted Rey back: </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s strong. I know my son. He can make it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Will you tell him I love him?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Rey would tell him, and Ben would barely react, intently focused on counting, so withdrawn into himself that sometimes it didn’t even seem like he knew she was still in the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was okay. She had time, and there was nowhere else she’d rather be than here.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the fourth day, Ben was so miserable that he cried and begged Rey to bring him just a single drink, please, anything, Ativan if she could sneak it in. She told him no, she could not and would not do that, and he bellowed and kicked the bed in frustration. When Kay, poking her head in at the noise, told him gently that they could maybe give him half a Valium to take the edge off, he swore at the top of his lungs and tried to throw a chair at her before Rey leaped up and grabbed him, wrapping her arms around his elbows to stop him. “She’s trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>help</span>
  </em>
  <span> you!” she shouted, holding him back as Kay ran for the door. “Ben—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“This </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucking</span>
  <em>
    <span> sucks!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he screamed as he struggled to get out of her grip, loud enough to bring in three orderlies. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Fucking— sucks! Fuck! I hate you! Fuuuuck!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, he got his Valium, and also a bed with straps again to hold him down as he drifted off into blessed, quiet sleep. Three hours of it, anyway. Then, the nausea woke him up again, and he spent the next twelve hours groaning into a toilet and watching some subtitled Korean drama on Netflix through the open bathroom door while Rey sat in her chair, quiet and calm, one eye on him and one on her screen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sang for him as he drifted in and out of lucidity. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And anytime you feel the pain, hey, Jude, refrain</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>don’t carry the world upon your shoulders, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>for well you know that it’s a fool who plays it cool </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>by making his world a little colder.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the sixth day, he was able to be taken off the heart monitor because his blood pressure had been stable for twenty-four hours. The shaking had stopped and the nausea was gone, too, even though his eyes still ached and he was having chills. He crawled into bed and ate real food for the first time in over a month: chicken soup, lime flavored Jell-O, and a cup of water. He kept it all down and fell asleep without medication, huddled under the blankets as Rey watched him closely, as the nurses came in as quietly as they could to check him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think we can take out the IV,” said Kay, checking her notes. “If he can continue to keep down fluids, that is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So the next morning, after he’d drunk a jug of water and kept it down, the IV came out, and Ben got a bright pink band-aid plastered across the bruised back of his hand and another jug of water with orders to drink it over the course of two hours. Rey put the finishing touches on her article and watched him sip at the water, holding it in both hands, which, despite their size and the strength she knew they were capable of, seemed weak and shaky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By lunch, Ben was ravenous, and got baked ziti, garlic bread, a paper carton of milk, and a salad. He wolfed it down and curled up in bed again, watching Rey through the narrow slits of his eyes as she nibbled out of a bag of Cheetos and kept reworking a paragraph that was bothering her, fiddling with her glasses. “Don’t write about any of this,” he whispered, making her jump a little. "In detail, I mean."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, of course not,” she answered, frowning. “That would be a HIPAA violation. This is— this is all private, you know, between you and me. And the nurses.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I said I hated you,” he said after a moment, voice low and rough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well. You were sick. I won’t hold it against you.” She shot him a small smile. “As long as you don’t hold anything against me for eating all your chocolate pudding when you couldn’t keep food down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chuckled. “Thief.” A chill wracked him again, and he shuddered, curling in on himself and wrapping the blankets tighter. “Shit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” Rey set the laptop down and stood up, walking over to the bed and checking his forehead with her palm. “Chills again?” He felt perfectly normal, if a bit clammy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ben rasped. “Sorry. Just f-freezing all of a—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here,” she said softly, and shucked off her sandals, climbing up into the bed and wrapping her arms around his blanket-bundled figure. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben almost melted right into her, shivering as she breathed warm air down the nape of his neck. He smelled rank, like sweat, old BO, and unwashed hair, but she didn’t care: she just wanted him to feel like he wasn’t alone. “I’m filthy,” he muttered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, so? I’ve still got you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tears, unexpected and sudden, sprang to life in his eyes as he shut them tight, willing himself to hold it together. “You don’t have to do this,” he said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey sighed against his back: a little less broad than she remembered it being, but no less long. “‘Course I did. I wasn’t gonna let you go it alone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a long silence. She thought maybe he’d fallen asleep, but then he whispered, “I want to talk to my mother.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” said Rey, squeezing his upper arm. “Okay. We’ll get you showered and cleaned up, then. No need to rush.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he mumbled, and drifted off to sleep in her arms.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shower and the shave was done with staff supervision, and Rey sat politely with her back to the door to give them privacy as they then helped Ben get into the only real clothes they had lying around: a pair of sweatpants and a dark gray sweatshirt with the logo of the hospital printed on the chest. It belonged to one of the doctors, and probably would have been snug on Ben’s body before— now he just looked like he was drowning in it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, turn around,” he said roughly as the nurses left, and Rey turned to see him: he looked leaps and bounds better than he had at the beginning of the week. The exhaustion-carved hollows in his cheeks were smaller, though not gone: his lips weren’t cracked, his eyes were clear, his face was shaved roughly with an electric razor, and his hair, almost shoulder-length by now and damp from the shower, had been pulled back into a bun. “Verdict?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A lot better,” she said, smiling. “The court’s decision is final. I’ll go get your mom.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t— have to be in here when she is,” he said haltingly, eyes searching hers as if to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>please understand.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And she did: this was something she had no bearing on at all, something private in a family.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay. I’ll wait outside.” She shot him a thumbs up, which he halfheartedly returned, and went to fetch Leia, who was waiting outside, pacing around and muttering to herself. Rey could see where Ben had inherited that trait. “Ms. Organa-Solo?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Leia, honey. Just Leia. How many times do I have to remind you?” She was a small woman, barely to Rey’s shoulder, but carried herself like a queen, and favored dark, severe colors like blue and gray. Her slate-gray hair was cut into a soft bob, just below her ears, and she looked at the door with something approaching apprehension.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re a famous senator, so, like, constantly. He’s okay. He’s ready to see you.” Rey looked at the floor. “And I’ll give you privacy while you talk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rey,” she said warmly, and suddenly Rey found herself pulled into a huge hug, way too big for the size of the person giving it. “You sweetheart. You’ve been an absolute lifesaver over the past month, you know that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh—” Rey said, feeling like life itself was being squeezed out of her. “No, it wasn’t—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And then you stayed with him the whole time for me, and—” Leia cleared her throat, emotion bleeding through her voice. “I would have done it if he’d let me do it. Stubborn kid. He gets it from me. Or his father. Maybe both. Anyway, if he doesn’t make it up to you, I will.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey tried to fight the tears leaking out of her own eyes. “Thanks, Ms.—Leia,” she amended at the last second, and sniffed as Leia let her go, then squared her shoulders and walked through the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>What transpired in the room? Who can say? Who </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> say? Rey didn’t know, and sat on a hard plastic chair biting her nails in the hall for an hour straight. What kind of words, she thought to herself, would be exchanged between an estranged mother and her penitent son, in a quiet room behind closed doors?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She recalled Leia’s arrival at the hospital the morning after the incident as Rey had been rushing back in from the police station, giving her statement: her pale face, the Secret Service guards who escorted her in, the way she had let out a tiny, broken cry when they showed her Ben in the bed on the ventilator, lying pale and silent, and asked </span>
  <em>
    <span>ma’am, do you recognize this man?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She’d been the only one who could positively identify him and prove he was who she said he was— she had still had his old passport and a copy of his birth certificate. She’d made a call in hushed tones, a private call, and Rey had heard the name </span>
  <em>
    <span>Han</span>
  </em>
  <span> and instantly known it was to his father. And then, she’d gone to Amilyn, and the two of them had embraced and cried, and Rey had sat there, still half in shock and all alone until Leia had extended a hand and pulled her in, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What would a woman like that say to her son? What would a man say to a mother like that?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She waited and waited, and the door opened at last, Leia looking teary-eyed but resolute as iron. “Right,” she said, without waiting for Rey to even move. “He wants to see you, honey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey swallowed and edged past her into the room, where Ben was sitting cross-legged on the bed, his face buried in his hands. “Hey,” she whispered. “Bad… time?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he told her, looking up and wiping his eyes. “I—I want to ask you something. And you don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to, because I know it’s putting you on the spot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay. What is it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I—I’m going to move back home as soon as they release me,” he said softly, and Rey frowned, confused: where exactly did he call home? “Well, back to my mom’s. In upstate New York. She has a house up there in Saratoga Springs on a lot of property, by the lake. It’s nice. Secluded enough to be peaceful, but not, you know, miles from civilization. I’ll be able to, uh, just… heal out there, she thinks, and there’s a great therapist in town she knows who specializes in addictive behaviors and can do house visits. I’ll have to make a court date in, um, Kings County, though, because I guess Empire filed a second lawsuit there, claiming I neglected to try to save Snoke’s life or something— but that’s in a couple of weeks, I think. And my lawyers are going to sue Hux in the same state, so that might draw out for a while.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you’ll be in New York, too?” asked Rey, not grasping where he was going with all this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I wanted to ask you if— if you, would you consider maybe, uh— would you like to… stay upstate with me?” His voice was guarded, but nothing could mask the hope in his eyes as he looked up at her. Rey’s heat began to pound, hot and heavy in her chest. “Just… temporarily. It’s selfish of me to ask, I know, but I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But I’m not trained care staff,” she said flatly, fighting tears in her eyes. “I’m not qualified to help you, Ben— I know I’ve been in here, but that was more of a support thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not asking you to come as </span>
  <em>
    <span>help</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m asking you to come as— as—” He went scarlet and rubbed the back of his neck. “Forget it. It’s— nothing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As— what, as a, a—” She couldn’t find the words. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span> seemed too bubbly and frivolous for whatever this was, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>partner</span>
  </em>
  <span> was too dry and boring— but they hadn’t even spoken about this. “Ben— we should talk about, about— us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked ashen suddenly, swallowing hard and gripping his knees. “Okay. Right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think— I think it might be good for you to not… be around me for a little bit,” she said, barely hearing her own words as Ben’s face crumpled. “Not because, not because I don’t care about you. But I think— I just don’t want to be a crutch, and I don’t want to remind you of all the shit you’re trying to get past—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rey,” he said through lips that barely moved. “Rey, if it wasn’t for you, I would have never—I would still be trapped like a fucking animal. I thought, I thought I hated you so much at the beginning, but I didn’t. I never did. I was jealous of what you had. Freedom. The ability to do what you fucking wanted. And realizing that was— the key, the key to getting me </span>
  <em>
    <span>out; </span>
  </em>
  <span>I had to admit to myself there was shady shit going on and you were like… I don’t know. A lens changing my perspective. My focus. And you didn’t even mean to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But I was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dick</span>
  </em>
  <span> to you,” she said, trying to hold her composure. “I was mean and I, I broke your nose, and yelled at you and we fought—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I deserved it—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey shook her head vehemently. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you— okay, well, you might have deserved it, but you did it because you were lashing out, not because you were a bad person, and—it’s complicated. So much of this is complicated and I can’t, I don’t want that anymore. I just want something straightforward and plain and simple. And I have a job, you know— deadlines to meet and—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So that’s a no,” he said softly, eyes downcast. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s— a temporary no. It’s— just me telling you to wait a little.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We didn’t talk about the closet,” he said, eyes still focused on the floor. “I— I don’t remember a lot of what happened, I think I was really fucking high, but did we, did we hook up again? Is that why—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That… kind of depends on what you mean by, uh, a hookup,” said Rey, throat choked up with humiliation. “Oh, god. I thought you were maybe on… something. But if you don’t remember— I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span> you,” Ben said, sounding strangled as he tightened his hands on each other, the knuckles pale and thick. He sucked in a breath that sounded like he was pulling it over gravel. “Fuck. I am so, so sorry— and if that’s why you don’t want, you want to wait, or part of it—I understand, but Rey— I want you to know you could never be a reminder of, of Empire or First Order or any of that shit—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t hurt me,” Rey said quickly, clasping her own hands so tightly in her lap she thought they might crack. “You just— it was a lot, and—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That didn’t seem to calm him down: he turned stark pale and looked like he was going to be sick. “It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> remember?” she asked, bewildered by his expression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben scrubbed his face with his hands. “Um. I— I remember just being… angry. Hating myself. And you—I wanted you to hate me, and I was— I wanted you so bad. And I thought—” his eyes flashed up, confused. “Didn’t I, didn’t I fuck you against the wall? I remember finishing. I remember you finishing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You… kind of did. But you didn’t.” Rey rubbed her temples. “Um. So, first you wanted me to tell you that I hated you and that you were worthless, and… after that, uh, you just— you were pushing, kind of between my legs. Then I, I told you to—” Her face was on fire; she could barely make eye contact. “I told you to just fuck me like a human being already since you’d done it before, and you, uh, you got your… you know, your dick inside me, but you didn’t move. You just fingered me while you had me pinned to the wall, and that was— it was really good, but after I finished you pulled out and started, uh, kind of… doing it between my thighs again? And then you finished, but it was all over my legs and, um, probably part of the wall.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben stared at her throughout her whole speech, silent, mouth gaping and cheeks turning dark crimson. “Oh,” he said simply when she fell silent. “Shit. I must have been really fucked up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… thought you might have been, especially after Snoke started talking to me. I… did I take advantage of you? I mean, I was sober, but you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not— no. You… you haven’t ever really met sober me for an extended amount of time, so it’s not like you could tell the difference, huh?” Ben offered her a crooked grin, almost shy, and she noticed for the second time ever that he had a nice smile: a sweet smile with gappy eyeteeth and long, flat, slightly wonky front incisors. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait— so every time we’ve done something, you’ve been… under the influence?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The smile faded as quickly as it had come, and he hung his head. “More or… less. But. Yeah. I— I didn’t want— god, I’m doing a shit job of explaining my… my brain shit. Fuck.” Ben ran a hand through his hair, the strands coming loose from the bun he’d tied it into. “I didn’t want… initially, if we were ever going to, to— you know, be, be—” He grunted in irritation and focused on the wall. “I didn’t want to not remember it. I didn’t want to be high or fucked up when we— if we ever actually—and then I know we did, in Cheyenne.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Rey said, looking everywhere but at him. “I understand. Yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was— I was kind of sober the first time,” he said, stealing a look at her from under his hair. “I mean, I was strung out on uppers, but—I remember it. Most of it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey closed her eyes, deep disappointment flooding her chest. “Right. That was the time you told me you didn’t remember our conversation when, you know— the night of the party in Dallas, when you slugged Hux—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that night. What… what was it that you told me?” he asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She pressed her mouth into a line. “I told you I was forcibly given cocaine by my first manager and sexually assaulted by him, and that was why— why I froze up like that, that night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The color drained from his face. “Oh. Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m— Rey, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well. You’ll remember now.” Rey rubbed her eyes, feeling heat well up behind them, her throat closing. “I hope. Third time’s the charm, as they say.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I remember the kiss you gave me at the garden,” he said, sounding like he might cry. “I thought— I thought at the time it was out of pity or something. Or maybe I didn’t. It was all so— it was like being in a fog, where nothing made any fucking sense, and I, I, it was complicated, but now—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey lunged for him, cupping his cheek in her palm, and shoved her mouth into his before she could talk herself out of it. He made a startled noise, his lips closing on hers, and his hands crept up her back as she crushed herself closer, into his lean frame: each of his hands were big enough to almost completely span her waist along the back, and when she finally let him go, he looked like he might be on the verge of tears, searching her face as his lips trembled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have never once in my life kissed you out of pity,” she breathed. “Never. I—god, no. No. Ben. It’s not… not that complicated, I guess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he agreed, eyes spilling over as his voice cracked. “No, it’s not, is it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And that’s why I just need some time, you know, I just— I have to get my stuff worked out before I make any long-term changes to my—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” he sobbed, and she froze, her throat choking up. “I love you, Rey, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for everything I did, everything you got put through, I’m sorry.” Tears streaked down his cheeks, wet and shining in the overhead lights.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wrapped her arms around him and embraced him tight, burying her face in his neck as he held her like he’d never let her go. He hugged with his whole body: his cheek pressed to hers, his chin locked over her shoulder, both arms tight, even one knee up and pressing her in as if he wanted to crawl into her ribcage and make a home under her heart. “I love you, too,” she said, trying to keep from crying. “And I’ll come to you. I promise— after all this crap is done with and over, I swear I’ll come to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he whispered, and she felt his eyelashes brush her neck as he shut his eyes. “I’ll— I’ll be good. For you. I won’t— I’ll try my fucking best, and I’ll go to therapy and do everything they tell me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do it for you, not me,” Rey told him, cupping the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed and nuzzled a little further into her hair. “I wouldn’t do it for me. I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> me. I like you, so I’ll do it for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, she couldn’t win them all. “Fine,” she said lightly, and turned her head to kiss him on the ear. “I’ll leave my phone number with you, okay? You text me as soon as you get a new phone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Ben said softly, letting her go with something like reluctance as she stood up and kissed his forehead. “Hey, Rey?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmm?” she asked, tilting her head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never been so glad I got my nose broken in my life.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She blinked and laughed aloud, covering her mouth as a snort escaped her, and Ben grinned at her as she tried to compose herself. “Oh, my god. Yeah, me too. I’ll see you in New York, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he said, and stole one more kiss before she squeezed his hand and left him there, heading out the door with a wave over her shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Leia caught her in the hall. “So, what was your decision?” she asked gently, warm brown eyes finding Rey’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… oh, you talked about it with him?” Rey said, surprised.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Apart from the rest of our conversation, yes, I did. I warned him you might need space after all this.” Leia sighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I told him, yeah. I want to finish some things in the city first, and there’s more legal stuff to get through, since FOM is suing for breach of contract. Amilyn says that our PR firm thinks it’ll look better if I show up in person instead of just being represented.” She shouldered her tote bag. “Plus, he says he has a court date in the city, so, you know. Paths might cross. But I promised I’d try to make it up there as soon as I could.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Leia smiled wryly. “Did you? You’ve got one hell of a spine, Miss Niima.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, he’s… he’s detoxed and sober. The hard part’s over, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, honey. No. The hard part’s just beginning.” Leia patted her hand. “Amilyn called. Said there’s a flight out of LAX in two hours back to JFK and she wants you on it. Need a ride?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can get there alone, thanks,” Rey told her, and hugged the smaller woman tightly. “I’ll text you? I know you’re busy, what with congressional… government stuff, but—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d like that very much,” said Leia warmly, releasing her. “I’ll be with Ben the whole way back to Saratoga Springs, but once he’s settled in I’ll have to leave him in the hands of the professionals and go back to DC.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’d think they’d give you some time off,” said Rey grumpily. “I mean, you thought he was dead, for fu—uh, god’s sake.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you know how the government is,” Leia told her. “Platitudes and well-wishes, and then a ‘could you get back to work, there’s a budget hearing you can’t miss’ a day and a half later.” She sighed again. “As much as I wish I could just… flip a switch and be with my son, I can’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m not you, but I’ll do my best.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Leia's warm brown eyes crinkled with faint amusement. “My son will be thirty in November. He doesn’t need me. He needs something only you can give, and I think you might need something only he can give, unless I’m interpreting this whole situation incorrectly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey’s cheeks burned. “Oh. No, I mean— yes, you, you’re reading it right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I usually do,” said Leia archly. “A word of advice: as much as I would like grandchildren, I would urge you to take it at a slow pace.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Grandchildren—</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Rey almost choked on her own spit. “Oh, my god, Ms. Organa-Solo, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s complicated, I, we—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No? Good. I’m an old lady, but I’ll tell you that I can’t begin to overstate the importance of the right timing.” Leia fondly squeezed her hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ben kind of, um, said as much,” said Rey, the heat of her blush still threatening to burn her alive. “I gotta go call an Uber. Will you just— I know he doesn’t have a new phone yet, but can you tell him I— tell him—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” said Leia softly, smiling. “I will. Every day, if I have to remind him of it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” said Rey, choking up, and turned away so a sitting United States senator wouldn’t see her cry while she ran for the doors, tote bag clutched tight.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. XIV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>THREE MONTHS LATER</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>A Fallen Star: The Rise and Collapse of Rock’s Greatest Idol</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Rey Niima, Rolling Stone</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>T</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>here he was, Kylo Ren: larger than life, as if someone carved him out of rough basalt and left him, a rough draft of a man, not quite finished. He wore his famous white, black, and red face paint like it was a mask, even more so than the masks which were part of his stage presence and performance, and he was leaning back easily in a chair, looking at me as I stepped into his dressing room. I was anxious to make a good impression, and why wouldn’t I have been? KORE and Kylo Ren had never spoken to the media privately before: there had never been an article, a Late Show interview, anything at all, and I was the first. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He spoke in a low, careful baritone when he greeted me, and he offered me a seat with as much politeness as I could have expected. As we began to speak, though, it became clear that he had a chip on his shoulder, something to lose: he flung himself into fiery moods with the same exuberant passion he displayed on the stage, and just as quickly cooled down to calculation and caution. I have no room to speak, though: I had something to lose, too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If the tour of North America had all gone to plan, I would be telling you what he said to me, direct quotes: telling you about his deadpan joke when I asked from where he drew his inspiration, for example, or how he told me he played the piano as a child and hated it. But it didn’t go to plan. Nothing went to plan, as everyone from New York to San Diego to middle-of-nowhere towns in the Midwest know by now, and I’m writing this, my last draft of this article, from a cold hospital room at Cedars-Sinai watching as a man who’s become more important to me than almost everything else in my life whispers his mother’s name in his sleep. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amilyn Holdo raised her head and looked at Rey, who was sitting across from her desk, glasses perched on her nose, blinking at her. “I can’t publish this,” she said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you can. I ran it by Legal and I sent a copy to Ben for proofreading, and he cleared it.” Rey swallowed. “I don’t make a single statement about the death of Snoke, or any— any biased anything about the court cases. It’s literally just the whole story, minus those details, and the ones Ben asked me to leave out, and it turns into a plea for corporations and CREs to stop treating human beings like entertainment machines.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it going to get us another cease and desist from Empire?” demanded Holdo.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. Our lawyers sent a copy to their lawyers, too, and they emailed us back saying they gave it the all-clear. I think you were cc’d on it. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t find a thing to be mad about.” Rey adjusted her dress. “I have to run— I have to appear in court in an hour. Just read it, okay? I’ll call you when I’m out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amilyn nodded and looked back down, her eyes tracing over the letters on the paper. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The soul of a human cannot be restrained by anything: not by force, not by discipline, not by manipulation, and certainly not even by time or distance. Not even the prison of a human being’s own mind built by tragedy or circumstance or pharmaceuticals can hold back a human spirit. It takes time to find our loved ones in the thing they create, of course, but we have to be patient. We must only sit, gently, on the rim of a black, black ocean of pain and misery, and cast our nets for the hiding light in the depths with as much care and patience as we can possess. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, maybe it wouldn’t be unprintable, after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She began to read.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey sat in the courtroom as quietly as she could: the Empire lawyers, looking very haggard, were still going through their notes, and she could see ahead of her a broad back in a somber navy suit that she would have known anywhere, a head of neat, glossy dark hair just brushing the collar above it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He cut his hair</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, and didn’t know why it threatened to choke her up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They called her to the stand, and she took her seat, pushing everything but the questions out of her mind and answering as evenly as she could to the cross-examination for which purpose she had been summoned in the first place: yes, she had witnessed the man who sat at the defendant’s table grasping for Snoke’s body as he had fallen; no, she did not believe he could have held on even if he had been able to grab him; no, they did not attempt resuscitation on the deceased, because he was very clearly dead and the defendant was still in a state where he could have been revived. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you, Miss Niima, you may step down,</span>
  </em>
  <span> said the judge, and she did. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One quick glance at Ben was all it took to see him fully, and she tried to burn the image of him onto her retinas as she turned away, wishing she could close her eyes to make it last longer. He looked better, <em>so</em> much better: fresher, clear-eyed, a healthier weight to his cheeks and body, his hair trimmed, but long enough to cover his ears. There were still dark circles under his eyes, though, and lines to his face she hadn’t seen before. She wanted to cry at the sight of him, to shout across the courtroom: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Are you doing okay? Are you sleeping well? Eating enough? </span>
  </em>
  <span>But she couldn’t, so she merely crossed to her seat and sat, barely focused on the proceedings as the judge droned on.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>They found Benjamin Solo not guilty, and Empire got slapped with a fine for wasting the court’s time with frivolous lawsuits to boot. Rey watched Ben as he stood, waiting for the verdict, and after the gavel dropped, he didn’t blink or flinch at all as he began to walk away, even though a hundred cameras were flashing and blinking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m proud of you, so proud of you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought distantly, hoping he could hear her as he neared her seat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stopped and looked down at her as she gazed up at him. “Ms. Niima,” he said softly, and extended his hand. Rey took it as she stood, and he shook it firmly, looking her right in the eye as cameras blew up, as the bailiff got the doors open. “Will you walk with me? It’ll get a little messy out there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, thank you,” she said, and he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, walking with her as she looked down politely, shy of the cameras still as they made it out and into the sunlight and past a throng of paparazzi into a waiting town car. He let her in first and slid in after her, and the door shut— and they were together, in a closed space, breathing the same air for the first time in months. Even with all the texts and emails they’d exchanged, it still felt surreal to actually be talking in person.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So… the Hux lawsuit?” he asked, looking at her sideways like he wasn’t sure she was real.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Settled a week ago. I got… a lot of money, and Hux got, I think, fourteen months of prison.” Rey gripped the leather seats as the car began to move away, the driver separated from them by a pane of thick glass. “He should have gotten life. Fucking plea deals, but, you know. Kate and Trix and all the others got a good amount each, too, along with, like, every other artist Hux had ever handled for Empire.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You said you’d spoken to the others. That’s good to know,” he said softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Victor’s back in Tennessee, opened his own music bar and lounge. Uh, Carter’s moved to LA permanently, I think with plans to be a designer. Kate bought a big warehouse in Queens and is starting a gym— either that or a fight club, not sure which. Trix wants to try her hand at modeling, and if that doesn’t work out, she said she’d like to go back to college and get a degree in public relations. Umar’s finally going back home to see his family—did you know they were holding his passport and preventing him from traveling?—and, I think, wants to start a restaurant, and Adam’s going to try his hand in acting. TV, first. Maybe stage. He likes stage work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben visibly relaxed. “Good,” he said softly, eyes shut. To her shock, Rey saw tears leaking out from under them. He wiped them away and cleared his throat. “Good— they can all have lives, now. Phasma, too?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey shot him a grin. “Phasma’s working in military contracting. Super secret, don’t ask. Last I heard she was in Japan.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good for her,” he said, and she looked down at their hands: two inches, maybe, separated them, but he reached out with the utmost caution, his pinky finger brushing hers. “You probably have to get back to work. Should I drop you off at the offices?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit. I was going to call Amilyn.” Rey reluctantly took her hand from his and dug her phone out of her bag, dialing Holdo’s number. It rang twice before her boss picked up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Rey? I just saw the news. Did you leave with Ben?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She sounded scandalized.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… yes. He offered me a ride. Do you want me to swing back by the office? Did you finish reading the article yet?” Rey gripped the phone tighter. “Was it horrible? Too purple prose-y? Do I need to rework the part where I segue into the conversation about unbridled capitalism? Or—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A very long sigh came from the phone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I think you should take the rest of the day off, actually,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Amilyn said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“And maybe the rest of the month. You need a break. Go upstate.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey flushed. “You talked to Leia, didn’t you?” she asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was nothing but cool, calm humor in Holdo’s voice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I can neither confirm nor deny these rumors. Pack a bag and go, Rey. Call me when you decide to return to work. Consider it a paid sabbatical.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Rey said, and hung up, red to the roots of her hair. “So. I’m going home with you,” she said to Ben, whose mouth dropped open before he remembered himself and shut it. “If that’s what you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he said, way too quickly. “I mean. If you want to—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do, I really do,” she said, and leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder. He froze beneath her, then leaned his head over, resting his cheek atop her head as the car rumbled along, his pinky finger just barely brushing hers.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The house in Saratoga Springs was beautiful: likely built in the mid 1800s, the cool white face rising two stories high above the green lawn and the garden in the front, beanpoles trailing green vines and rosebushes spilling lush foliage all over the sun-drenched autumn grass of late afternoon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey, blinking and roused from her nap in the car on Ben’s shoulder, took it all in: the paths up to the door, the way Ben’s hand shook as he fumbled with the key: the foyer with gorgeous wood floors and white-painted walls, the graceful staircase, the high windows that spilled light into every room as she walked through to the back of the house, taking it all in, where the back porch looked out over the lake. The backyard was full of more flowers: bees lazily hummed from blossom to blossom, and the air was full of the scent, wafting in through the open screen door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s beautiful here,” she said softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you like the flowers?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re… perfect,” she said, and turned to look at him. “Did your mother plant the garden?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did,” he said simply. “I thought… it would be a good project to work into my routine. I have a set routine— the therapist says it’s good for recovery. So I wake up at six, I eat, I come out here and garden while it’s not too hot, then I have lunch, shower, do my appointments with the, um, staff and the therapist, and spend the rest of the afternoon until six just working on my own projects before I eat and go to bed at nine. And I thought— I thought after a week of working on the garden that, um, you might like it, and it was something to work towards. When you came out. And now you have. So. There it is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey rubbed her left eye, pretending she wasn’t tearing up. “It’s really beautiful,” she told him again. “I love it. You did such a good job.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes went heavy-lidded, his mouth going loose and soft: positive affirmation was apparently still a surefire way to hit him right in the heart. “Thanks,” he whispered, ducking his head and looking away. “So, uh, you— do you want your own bedroom? The place has six. I made up one for you, and mine is made up right now, but if you— if you want—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go to yours,” she said quickly before she could change her mind, and his head jerked back up, his eyes meeting hers in a blaze of something like fear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mine. Yeah. Okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to eat you,” she told him, taking his hand. “Come on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>His room faced the back of the house and the lake, tucked into a corner of the upstairs floor. It was a small room, maybe the smallest one, with a funny stooping ceiling, but it had a little bathroom connected to it, a bathroom with a big old clawfoot tub, and his four-poster bed had been carefully made: a quilt lay over clean white sheets, the pillows still a little wrinkled from last night, but put in place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey’s mouth went a little dry at the sight of that bed. Ben stepped in, looking far too big for the room, and took his jacket off, hanging it on a hanger and putting it away. “Uh,” he said, looking back at her hesitantly. “I— should I change into normal clothes, or— not?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She swallowed. All she had were a few changes of clothes in the bag she’d packed in a frenzy before they’d left the city, and that was downstairs in the foyer. “I— can you unzip me?” she asked, and swept her hair off her neck before turning to face the wall, her back to him: the snugly fitting, cream-colored dress she’d worn to court was practically impossible to take off or put on by herself without contortionist work. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” he said, and she felt his hands on her back: big, heavy fingers pulled down her zipper, and her back, exposed to air, felt cold as he tugged it all the way down to the small of her back… and left his hand there, fingertips just barely brushing her skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neither of them moved for a moment. “Ben,” she said, and she hadn’t meant to make it sound like begging, but this was— this was—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he managed, slightly hoarse. “Jesus Christ, Rey. Do you kn-know how much I’ve thought about you in the past—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She turned to face him stripping the dress off completely in an awkward little dance until it fell to the floor and left her in her nude-colored bra and seamless underwear. “I’m— if I’d known this morning, I would have put on, I don’t know, something cuter—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Cuter,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he echoed, and stared at her, drinking her in with his eyes. “You—Jesus, Rey, you would look good in a fucking paper bag. I missed you, I missed you so much—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I missed you too,” Rey murmured, and reached for him, folding him into her arms as he kissed her long and slow and careful, deep and exploring: she took in the feel of him under her hands. The leanness had filled out under that shirt of his: the muscle had returned to his shoulders, his thighs, his waist where she reached under his shirt and felt for him… and once she did that, she couldn’t stop. Her hands flew over his buttons as he groaned into her mouth; he put his whole body into the kisses as she tugged the shirt off his shoulders and pressed her hands to the bare skin of his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Warm, beating, </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I should shower,” he panted against her cheek as he shrugged off the shirt and unbuckled his belt. “I fuckin’ stink—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, don’t— I don’t care, I stink too, who cares—” Rey wasn’t even sure if she was making sense, but Ben laughed breathlessly, got his pants down, and kissed her again as he staggered his way out of his pants, pushing her to the bed carefully so she was sitting before he reached into his dark green boxer-briefs and adjusted himself, cheeks scarlet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She took off her bra, and he forgot for a moment about fixing his erection: his hand remained stuck in his pants as he gaped at her chest— gaped for so long she began to feel self-conscious and covered her breasts with her bent elbows. “They’re not— very big—” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love them,” he said instantly, dropping to his knees in front of her to see them better. “God, I love them so much— your little nipples, your little tits, they're just big enough to fit in the palm of my hand. Can I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey grabbed his hand and pressed it to her left breast, and his eyes fluttered shut, a little sigh escaping him as he lifted, squeezed, brushed his thumb across her. She bit her lip and tried to fight the stab of arousal, but nothing could hide her nipple standing stiff and erect under his fingers as he touched her. “You thought about this?” she asked, heart thumping.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So much,” he admitted, reaching up to touch her right one. “Fuck. I thought about them so much before, but— but this is— this—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You did?” she whispered, and drew one of his hands up to her mouth, kissing the palm. “You want, you want to kiss them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck yeah,” he grunted, and lunged toward her, licking a wet, cool stripe up the side of her breast before pressing sloppy kisses to her skin, his hands slipping down to her waist as the flat of his tongue slipped across her still-erect nipple. A soft sound escaped past his lips, and a free hand darted up to pay attention to the neglected side, Rey’s thighs tightening around his torso as he just about ate her alive right there on the edge of the bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she finally tugged his head away, oversensitive, his mouth was swollen and flushed, wet with saliva, and his eyes were heavy with pure want as his fingers traced down to below her navel and the soft fold of her belly made by sitting. She wanted him so badly. She didn’t want to push him: she wanted to take it slowly, let him move at his own pace… but her cunt was practically molten at this point, her clit swollen, sensitive, and dying to be touched, her heart beating out a rapid staccato under her heat-flushed, prickling skin. “Ben,” she gasped, and shut her eyes in shame at how turned on she was as his thumb skimmed the line between her underwear and her abdomen. “Ben, if you don’t, if you, if— fuck—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He paused, unsure. “Do you... not want—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do, I do! The fuck do you mean I don’t want, I do, I—” She couldn’t even speak rationally. “If you w-want to take it slow, just tell me, because I, I’ll do whatever, whatever you w-want—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben made a soft sound and stood. “Lie down on your back,” he said, low and firm, and she did, shaking as he tugged her underwear off. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t shave, shit, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought dizzily. “You don’t have to do what I want anymore. That, that was the old— I want you to tell me what </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> want. Please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you, I don't want to go too, too, it should be about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m not the one who’s—” She bit her lip, afraid to say it, but he scoffed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Recovering? From a substance addiction. Not— Jesus. Look at me, Rey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So she did, and saw as he hooked his thumbs into his boxer-briefs and tugged them down, letting his dick spring free, bouncing a little as he moved. It pointed directly at her, flushed, hard, and leaking a little, and she swallowed, her mouth gone dry and her pussy suddenly feeling like it was about to melt. “I see it,” she managed to say. “You, I mean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m so fucking hard I could pound nails, and it’s for you, and I am one hundred percent, stone cold sober right now,” he said, voice cracking a little. “So if you want it, tell me— tell me how to do it. And I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want it,” she gasped, flinging whatever remained of her shame to the wind. “Ben, come up here, I want it, I want you to fuck me so fucking bad—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was on the bed, crawling over her, trembling in his eagerness as he felt between her legs, into her soft, clinging wet heat. “Oh, fuck. You feel like, fucking— perfect,” he gasped, one thick finger slipping into her, spreading the moisture around. “Tell me how to do it right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get it in me first,” Rey said, trying to look down as he fumbled with his cock and slipped it into her a little, wiggling it back and forth to ease it in. The stretch was as perfect as she remembered: she struggled to stay up on her elbows as he worked it in, inch by inch in shallow thrusts that deepened as he went on. “Fuck, Ben, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>—” She flopped down onto her back, moaning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He made a horrible, strangled noise, and finally bottomed out against her, shaking and sweating as he held himself up by his arms. “Rey,” he wheezed, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “Oh, god, </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can move now,” she gasped, and tugged at his hips frantically to guide him. “You can— Ben—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hold on,” Ben choked, shaking his head against her skin. “Not yet. Want to remember this, want to, remember, how, how good you are, on me, around me, me in you—” His voice broke off into a sob, and he buried his forehead in her neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Rey told him, resting her hands on his hips. “Okay. You let me know when.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seemed an eternity, but was probably only about a few seconds before he mumbled something incoherent, withdrew slowly, and thrust back into her, that small movement alone almost making his knees buckle over her. “Shit,” he groaned, shaking. “Shit, I can't—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Want me on top?” she asked him, and when he nodded, wrestled him over to his back so that she was straddling him across the hips, his cock still buried in her, her hands on his chest. “There. Good?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he groaned, gazing up at her with teary eyes. “Really good, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really...”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She canted her hips a little, biting her lip as the sweet, thick drag and thrust of him lit her up from knee to chest, and Ben’s mouth dropped open, his eyes rolling back in his head a little as he lay there and took it. “Re-ey,” he chanted, over and over. “Rey, Rey, Rey—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got you,” she panted, struggling to reach her climax: she was so close, but it had been such a long day, and something just wasn’t clicking quite right. That was okay, she didn’t need it right now: there would be time later. “Ben. I’ve got you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hands, thick and blunt, gripped her ass and started jerking her up and down on him, goading her into a faster rhythm as he bared his teeth with the effort. Her thighs began to ache, but she didn’t want to stop him, not when he looked like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> beneath her and his cock was splitting her open so perfectly with every movement. “Fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey, Rey— I’m going to c—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey saw his face shutter down into quivering, strained bliss a split second before a burst of wet warmth bloomed inside her body, and she lifted herself off him, using her hand to finish him off as he drooled into the quilt, thick splatters of semen spattering across his belly. She sneaked her other hand down between her own legs, intending to get herself off quickly, but he saw her: those bright eyes focused on her fingers. “What?” she asked, shy of him suddenly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sit on my face,” he rumbled, sleepy and dazed. “Come here, sweetheart.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, he didn’t need to ask twice. Rey shuffled up his body and straddled his mouth gently, his large nose pressing into her clit, and when he opened his mouth under her and started licking and kissing and moaning, it took only about a half a minute for her to shudder over her peak, crying out as she came down and sagged against the headboard, leaning forward and pushing up on wobbly legs so she didn’t suffocate him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben, still lying between her legs, wiped his soaked face with the back of his hand. “You okay?” he muttered, reaching up to stroke the back of her thighs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” she panted, and wriggled down to lie next to him, reaching up and letting her hand lie on his arm as he closed his eyes, chest heaving gently, mouth slack. Rey watched his face for a long time as he breathed, half-asleep, and reached her hand up to stroke at his soft lips. Ben grunted and stirred, blinking at her as his lips closed on her knuckle. “Falling asleep on me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said, closing his eyes again and nuzzling into her palm. “Just… mm. Nothing.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m thirsty,” she told him, raising her head up. “I’m gonna go get some water.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get you a glass,” he said, sitting up as she did and swinging his legs off the bed. “Got one in the bathroom.” Rey rolled to her side, watching him get up, stretch, and walk to the bathroom, his pale ass almost phosphorescent in the light, his broad back bending as he filled the cup carefully. She sat up as he came back in, his chest still shining with sweat and his cock hanging limp and heavy between his thighs as he sat on the bed, handing it to her. She drank. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” she said when she was done. He set the glass on the nightstand and swept his hair out of his eyes, then gave her a small, half-shy smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, uh. What… do you want to do for the rest of the day?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d hate to mess with your set schedule,” Rey told him, swinging her own legs out. “Hold on, I have to pee.” She ducked her head apologetically and scurried into the bathroom, leaving the door cracked so she could hear him. “What did your therapist say about me being here?” she called out as she gingerly wiped. Her whole downstairs was swollen and tender: maybe she could take it easy for a few hours.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She said it would be good for me to have an accountability partner,” Ben said as she washed her hands. “And that you should work into my schedule, and, um, sleep in another room so my sleep schedule isn’t interrupted.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” said Rey, opening the door and smiling. “Right. Well. How’s this? Separate rooms, but I’ll spend meals with you and garden with you and then I’ll give you time to yourself and just do my own thing when the therapist comes by, or when you want space in the evenings.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And if I… don’t want my space in the evenings?” he asked, shooting her a cautious look. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Then I’m sure we can find something to do together.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” he said, lips twitching. “Sounds like a plan to me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So much for taking it easy,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey thought an hour later as she sprawled on the living room floor, moaning as Ben’s head nuzzled between her thighs, his hair sweeping soft across her belly, his mouth working at her sensitive skin as she toppled over the edge and crashed down into another sweeping orgasm, gasping as he sat back and wiped his mouth, watching her lie there and pant for air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No need to look so smug,” she said after a moment, sitting up dizzily. He’d started a fire in the fireplace to chase away the cool evening air of fall settling over the house, and it warmed her whole left side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben crawled up and lay down beside her on the scratchy carpet, sighing as Rey lay down beside him, one leg hooked over his jeans-clad thigh. “I thought of something else we could… do together,” he said softly, half into her hair as he turned his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? Besides an hour straight of you making me come?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He snorted. “Yeah, as much as I’d love to do that forever to make up for lost time, I think you have to eat at some point.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey’s stomach growled at the mention of food. “Oh, god, I’m starving.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See? Knew it.” Ben smiled and sat back up, leaving her other side cold. “Come on. I’ve got something somewhere in that fridge of mine. But, uh, the thing…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, the thing you wanted to ask about?” she said, following him to the kitchen with an old flannel button-up cast over her shoulders. “Sure, what is it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have… a lot of shitty old songs and poetry written down,” he told her almost too fast, not making eye contact as he got out eggs and a frying pan and some veggies from the crisper drawer. The cold air blew across Rey’s bare legs. “So, I was wondering if you— if you’d like to maybe help me knock them into better songs. And I don’t— I don’t want anything to do with the industry anymore, but if you like, we could always— I don’t know, fly to Virginia and sing at Victor’s bar one day, when I can stand to be in one again. Get him some asses in seats. Might be nice.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d like that,” said Rey softly, climbing up on the stool and watching him expertly make an omelette. “A lot. Just people, and no stupid executives ruining anything.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben darted a glance at her. “Good,” he said softly, and neither of them needed to say anything else: they knew.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A knock sounded suddenly at the front door. Rey froze in her seat, confused as Ben frowned and set the pan aside. “That’s weird. It’s eight. Are you expecting someone?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” mumbled Ben, frowning as he pulled a T-shirt on. “Maybe someone’s lost. Don’t get up, I’ll answer it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He left, heading to the front door, and Rey crept to the hall just to peek around the corner as Ben opened the door and revealed a much older man with a seamed, kind face, wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and a trucker’s hat. “Ben!” he shouted, beaming, and Ben— well, all Rey could see of him was his back, but it was very still, and there was barking— a dog?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Dad?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> choked Ben, and Rey’s face flamed: she wasn’t wearing any fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>pants</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Ben’s father was at the front door. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh god oh no oh fuck this cannot be—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Too late. He’d seen her. “Is that Rey? Your mom’s told me so much about her, and all this, and you—” The man stepped in like he owned the place, the dog (an enormous, indeterminate breed, shaggy brown hair, the size of a young dinosaur) scrambled up on hind legs and almost knocked Ben over to the floor, licking his face in excitement as the man headed down to the kitchen, and Rey backed away, panicking, desperate to find anything to cover her goddamn vagina because she’d left her underwear in the living room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He made it to the kitchen just as she put the counter between herself and him, wide-eyed. “Rey Niima, isn’t it?” he asked, beaming, and Ben appeared behind him, looking completely stunned, delighted, and horrified all at once. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she squeaked. “Oh, god, you must be Mr. Solo—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scoffed. “Han, call me Han, everyone does. I know I’m late and it's been months, but I had to finish my route and truck over from goddamn Alaska to get here, and the borders were giving me hell, and the CB radio was going nuts the whole way—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dad, it’s kind of a bad time—” began Ben, arms half-full of Enormous Dinosaur Dog as Rey tried to shield her lower half from view.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Han looked indignant. “Bad time? You’ve been found! You’re alive! You’re okay! You’re doing great! What bad time—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What your son means to say,” Rey said with all the blunt dignity she could muster, “is that you’ve caught <em>us</em> at a bad time, because currently my underthings are in the living room and I really don’t care for the idea of flashing Ben’s father, which is why I’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> come over to shake your hand—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, good Lord,” said Han, rubbing his temples. “I’ve been calling every ten minutes!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I left my phone upstairs and the landline’s been disconnected since 2014,” said Ben, crimson all the way to his huge ears. The dog woofed and made his way over to Rey, where he sniffed her ankles, her knees, and her proffered hand, then licked it. “God, Dad, I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no, forget it,” said Han, shaking his head. “Christ, kid. All right. We'll start over. Rey, you go get your things. Me and Chewie’ll just look at the wall for a second. Go on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey ran for her life to the living room and jammed her underwear and jeans on before hurrying back out to see Ben and his father locked in a tight embrace. Han stood a half head shorter than his son, but as they released each other, Rey thought she could almost see the boy Ben had used to be: gangly, awkward, long-limbed. “Are you staying for dinner?” she asked, feeling as if she was intruding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you’ll have me,” said Han gruffly, wiping his eyes with a sleeve before taking his cap off to reveal hair just as shaggy as his son’s, but far grayer. “Only for tonight. Won’t be an imposition. Just to catch up. I got a route to California to cover in the morning. Hope you didn’t mind, but I parked my rig on the road. Nobody comes down here, or so Leia said.” He held out his hand, and Rey shook it. “Nice to meet you, regardless.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As long as you didn’t park it in the rosebushes,” said Ben. “I’ll see if I can make, um. More omelettes. And maybe a sandwich or something.” He laughed a little self-consciously. “I’m only used to cooking for one and now I’m hosting a whole dinner party.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey went to bed while the two Solos sat in the living room together. It had been a long day, and she was in no mood to be the awkward third wheel while Han and his son spoke. Her room was bigger than Ben’s, on the same floor, but with a four-poster bed and a dresser and a pretty blue quilt. He’d moved her bag in for her, and she crawled into the bed after showering in the attached bathroom and drifted off, half-dreaming.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door opened quietly, and she stirred, frowning. “Hm?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s me,” said Ben softly. She felt the bed depress on the other side. “Can I sleep in here tonight? I gave Dad my room.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” she mumbled, reaching a hand out blindly to find him as he shucked off his shoes and pants and shirt and crawled in beside her. His body was broad and warm, and she sighed, enjoying his warmth as he settled in. “Good talk?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ben said heavily, and scooted down in the bed so he could wrap his arm around her waist and bury his face in the crook of her neck. “Good talk. And Mom called. You and I are getting joint rights to that song we wrote. Empire can’t have it. Judge finally decided. They’re writing us a check for all the profits.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smiled sleepily into his hair. “Mmm. Good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hand, large and warm and gentle, cupped the back of her head as he curled closer, and they both fell asleep in the cool autumn air of the room, crickets singing their muted chorus past the windows on the shores of the lake beyond.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>ONE YEAR LATER</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun had gone down over the Blue Ridge Mountains, casting the land below in a slate-blue shadow. The Richmond bar was smoky and loud, crammed full of patrons who were getting rowdy at tables and clamoring for more drinks on their Saturday night as the entertainment prepared to begin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey poked her head into the curtained-off backstage area. “You ready?” she asked. “They’re warmed up and good to go. I think that last standup comedy act bored them to tears.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Either that, or they just remembered whose names are on the marquee outside,” Trix said, grinning. “I’m good to go. Ben?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben lowered his foot from his stool and brushed his hands on his jeans. “Victor?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good to go, boss.” Victor lifted his bass. “She’s tuned up and ready.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s all of us, then,” Ben said, an easy smile spreading across his face. Rey noted his tense hands, and made a mental note to check on him: it wasn’t easy to be around this much booze when he was one year and three months sober, but he was doing great so far. “Let’s get out there and give them a show.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can’t believe you didn’t charge,” said Trix in an undertone as they headed out to the stage. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As if we need the money,” Rey replied, grinning. “I was just glad you were game.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trix tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear: blonde as ever, but long, French-braided back out of her face. “Well, I figured one more time wouldn’t hurt,” she said. “Come on. Showtime.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The crowd went berserk, roaring with laughter and applause when Ben introduced them as “Iron Core, you know, but with a C, so Empire Records doesn’t snipe us for copyright infringement,” and then sat back in enraptured silence as they performed their songs, songs with names like “Hello, Heaven”, “Already Here”, “Signal Fire”, “Peace”, and “June Blue Sky” and ended with the now-famous “Kill Me With Your Love”, Rey standing center stage with Ben in her flannel shirt and singing softly into the mic with him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They ended with “Take Me Home, Country Roads” by John Denver and the bar went nuts: standing ovation, applause, whooping. They waved and left the stage, but got dragged back up for an encore, laughing and waving off the cheers and stomping.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want to do the new one?” Rey asked into Ben’s ear over the roaring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” he said, smiling, and turned to the mic, waving down the crowd and swinging his guitar around to his front again. The crowd quieted, listening, and Victor and Trix watched from the back of the stage as Rey and Ben sang, his guitar the only accompaniment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Wasn't it funny how the people talked?<br/></em>
  <em>A eulogy for someone still alive<br/>Darling, you were never meant for the cheap paint<br/>or the glossy magazines with nothing inside.<br/><br/>Take me to the garden<br/>Where all the best things come for free,<br/>I want to lie under the flowers <br/>And sleep under the trees.<br/>I want to lie under the flowers<br/>And sleep under the trees.<br/><br/>Take your hands from off your eyes<br/>There's nothing under the bed anymore<br/>No one's gonna take your words away again<br/>Or make you forget what your name is for.<br/><br/>Take me to the garden<br/>Where all the best things come for free,<br/>I want to lie under the flowers <br/>And sleep under the trees.<br/>I want to lie under the flowers<br/>And sleep under the trees.<br/><br/>We'll let moss and ivy climb up our legs<br/>And the roses bloom in your hair<br/>While the world goes on and on and on<br/>But nothing'll be changing there.<br/>No, nothing will be changing there.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Take me to the garden<br/>Where all the best things come for free,<br/>I want to lie under the flowers <br/>And sleep under the trees.<br/>I want to lie under the flowers<br/>And sleep under the trees.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last chords faded, and the crowd’s applause thundered over them both. Rey, standing hand-in-hand with Ben, smiled and bowed, waving. She’d never thought she’d ever like being on a stage again, and yet… this was good. This was <em>wonderful</em>, all she’d ever wanted in her life. </span>
  <span>Ben squeezed her hand. “Let’s go,” he whispered into her ear, and they left the stage together, the harsh spotlight slipping off them as they ducked off into the back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>great!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Trix said, grinning as she high-fived them both. “Got a title?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not yet,” Ben told her, slipping his guitar off and into its case. “Still working on it. But they liked it. We’ll have to do it again when we come next month.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dude, please do,” said Victor, hurrying up. “My bar is fucking packed every time we play. Maybe we should strike back out and try again. Just the four of us. Or Umar, if he’s not busy at the restaurant.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s table that for another time,” said Rey, latching her notebook shut. “I need some fresh air. Ben?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, please,” he said, recognizing their code phrase, and followed her out to the back alley, where the glowing neon of the street signage bled over onto the wet asphalt as the heavy back door swung shut. He sagged against the wall, sighing, head hung low. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You good?” she asked, joining him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I could smell that bourbon. Didn’t know if I was going to be sick or make a run for the booze.” He lifted his head and sighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you didn’t do either. Congratulations.” Rey leaned her head over to rest on his shoulder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you did great on that stage,” he told her softly, leaning his head over to rest his cheek on her hair. “Really great. You have a natural stage presence.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not like you,” she teased, smiling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, but you have your own thing. And that’s good.” He kissed her head. “How did that last Zoom meeting with Amilyn go? I didn’t get a chance to ask before we left New York.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She beamed up at him. “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Apparently my article is responsible for three reprints and a huge surge in online subscriptions, and someone, and you’ll never believe this, entered it to be considered for a Pulitzer this year. Mostly for the discussion of predatory contracts and drugs, but— can you believe it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can,” Ben said, and slung his arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. “Look at you, huh? You’re gonna be more famous than I ever was.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not possible,” Rey told him as she hid her smile against his neck. “Don’t suppose you want to go sneak off and, um…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Celebrate?” he asked, kissing her cheek. “Hmm. I think so. What are you in the mood for? Because I'm feeling red, myself, but...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Red,” she said, squeezing his hand shyly. “Right now. Please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I can do that,” Ben told her, dropping his voice into a gravelly, low growl. “Ms. Niima. Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>snooping around</span>
  </em>
  <span> my show?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m just looking for my bag,” she protested, yanking her hand out of his and giving him her very best scowl. “You really are stuck up, thinking I revolve around </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Kylo—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stuck up, am I?” Ben snarled, and tugged her in close, kissing her on the mouth as she pretended to struggle and gasp and kissed him back, moaning. “I’ll show you stuck up, you little—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey squealed as he scooped her up and ran to the parking lot behind the bar, into their trailer (a Airstream, this one: old and previously owned by Han and smelling faintly of the 1970s) while she broke face and giggled as her head almost struck the roof on the way in. She stopped when he tossed her to the bed in the back and unbuckled his belt, the sound ticking off some primal instinct in her brain and making her skin prickle. “Kylo—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh,” he said harshly, and opened his fly, tugging out his heavy, full cock. “I didn’t tell you to speak, Niima.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She kicked her shoes off, then drew her knees up as he tugged her jeans off her legs. “But it’s happening anyway, so—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He clapped a hand over her mouth, and she moaned behind his hand as he laid her down on the bed again, yanking her underwear down with his free hand. “I can think of something else you could do with that mouth,” he growled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey shook her head, eyes wide: she wanted that cock </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside</span>
  </em>
  <span> her, not in her mouth— even though that was a tantalizing idea. “No, no, I’ll be quiet, I promise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, will you?” Ben said roughly, and slipped a thick finger into her body, right where she needed him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her back arched off the bed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh-uh. I said quiet. You promised. After all,” and his voice pitched lower, rougher, “we’re backstage, and if someone hears us…” Rey almost groaned aloud, but forced herself to stay quiet. Imagining a hookup backstage where someone might find them was… doing things to her body she liked very much. “Good girl,” he said softly, and gave her another finger, working her, readying her while she whimpered quietly on their bed, reveling in the sensations of his massive hand working her into a sloppy, wet, open mess of heat. “I think you’re ready. Shh. Stay quiet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I hate you,” Rey moaned under her breath, and he laughed before slowly, slowly easing himself into her, filling her to the brim until he could go no further. “Oh, god, Ben— Kylo—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rey,” he gasped, and began to roll his hips in a steady, firm pace, making her yelp into his shirt with every thrust. “Rey, Rey, Rey, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>—” He smashed his mouth into hers in a desperate kiss, and she tried her best to return it, her arms clinging to his neck and shoulders. One hand worked down between their bodies, rubbing at her clit, and she gasped, half-holding her breath as she squeezed her eyes shut and every muscle in her body went taut, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> she was falling over the edge, light and warmth flooding her as she cried out into the space between them. Ben kept fucking her through it, all the way to his own climax, when he let out a deathly-low groan, trembling as his thrusts turned messy and erratic before he slumped down over her, panting hard, flushed and wrecked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” he asked after a moment, voice hoarse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Rey told him, stroking his sweat-damp hair. “Definitely okay. You?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. You know I just—have to check. Every time.” He sat up with some difficulty and drew his hand over his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know. It’s fine, I check you too.” Rey sat up too, stretching as she looked for her underwear. “We’d better get back. They’ll be looking for us.” She bent one way and winced: her pussy felt swollen and tender. “Ooh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good ooh or bad ooh?” asked Ben, slipping off the bed to look her over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Both.” Rey winked at him as she shuffled to the bathroom to wipe herself clean. Ben ducked his head and tugged his pants back up. “You want to go somewhere for dinner?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Victor suggested Denny’s, like old times.” Ben stood up and absently fixed his hair. “I could stand to eat a big greasy plate of hashbrowns and eggs.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, old man,” she joked, and kissed his cheek. “But get a salad. You’re going to have the world’s highest cholesterol if you keep eating diner food.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed. “All right, all right. Hey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you.” Ben bent down and kissed her cheek in return, half-shy, like he hadn’t just fucked her into the bed. “A lot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you too,” Rey whispered, and caught his lip in hers for a moment, humming to herself. “Let’s go. They’re gonna wonder where the hell we are.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So they walked back out of the trailer and across the lot, watching the stars come out overhead in the deep Virginia night sky, and Rey took Ben’s hand tightly like she’d never let it go again.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>WELL WE ARE DONE THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>